Upon Ones Worst Fears
Despise the stench of methanal
hovering o'er this narrow space;
tinnitis, like eerie sirens
penetrate through the bones....
of ossified oracles, and -
some neurological system,
flatlined from wired Life;
call it....Time of Death?
plastics and steel support still life,
by needdles, and tubes -
or do they?
I'll sleep on it,
let you know, tomorrow,
'less the whitecoats give
orders to fill my veins -
with morphine, a la drip, drip, drip.
[And will I ever be able to breathe on my own,
will I ever be able to taste lobster-tail again].
now the green gloves arrive
in the under-lobby,
toe-tag me cold and dead;
please pull me from this frozen vault...
Gehenna be no final bed...
or is it...?
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Added by Poetry Lover
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