Hourglass Reflections

As further evidence that this blog is not dead, here's a rare-once-in-a-blue-moon poem/dramatic monologue from yours truly (admittedly written in year 10 but never shown to the blog-reading public)

Apologies to all would-be or actual doctors or anyone involved in the medical profession- I have nothing against you, I think you play incredibly important and redemptive roles in society. Anyways the persona is not me even though I had just spent two tortuous day sitting in waiting rooms, first in the American embassy and then a doctor's clinic when I wrote this poem.

I guess I could just invoke Oscar Wilde's controversial artistic disclaimer in his preface to Dorian Gray:

"The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim.
There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.

No artist desires to prove anything. No artist has ethical sympathies. No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.

All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, not life, that art really mirrors.

Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex and vital. When critics disagree, the artist is in accord with himself. All art is quite useless. "

Anyways, now to the actual poem itself (which is probably going to be a bit of an anti-climax; its not really controversial! I hope.)

Hourglass Reflections

Cold blue walls and the pervasive smell of antiseptic:
Hospitals make me sick – how ironic then
The amount of time that I should spend in them
Perpetually being jabbed, cut open and sewn back again
Until I am more synthetic material than human being.

There are others waiting here as well;
Solitary giants living in their own thoughts,
Connected to each other by fine threads of circumstance.
All in the same boat, a leaky vessel carrying us to a salvation
That never seems to get any closer, indeed today it seems further away.

Now and then, someone cries;
A mournful sound that wakes us from our reveries
Reminds us why we are here at this ungodly hour.
While the monotonous ticking of the clock melting into the deluge
Reminds us how little time we have left…

They brought in a man screaming once
Writhing like a snake, frothing like a mad dog
“I’m a prisoner… It’s all a conspiracy!” cried he
And we all shook our heads,
Mumbling in disgust, sympathy… understanding?

He never came out of the Last Chance Room
Save for a body bag that muffled all dissent.
God knows what they did to him
And what they’ll do to me.

The very thought of which sends shivers down my spine;
Tingling chills caressing each individual vertebrae
Till I lose all reason and begin to shudder uncontrollably
Crying “Tip the hourglass back on itself!”
Tip the hourglass…

The hissing of the sands of time:
I hear it in my dreams, my waking hours...
It makes me shudder, clasp my clammy hands together in strained embrace,
Coveting the vitality of life. Madly. Compulsively.

It's the reason I return here, time and time again.
Forcing down the jittery nerves that threaten to convulse into panic,
Running my hands over what remains of the hair on my skull,
Tracing fingers over newly formed scars,
Each reluctant step leading to this room which harbours
The absurd human delusion that every disease has a cure.

It would be easier to just give up now
And have my screams stifled by soft pillows,
The pain blocked out by morphine shots.
Deluding myself that Death comes only to others
Until the fateful moment when the last grain of sand falls
Right.In.Front.Of.My.Eyes.

So I wait here instead, inactively seeking help,
Knowing they’ll come for me; those terrifying beings
Uttering the two despised words “Bad News…” in gravelly tones
The very sound of which freezes the blood in my veins
And holds me in limbo: no muscle moves, no breathe escapes…
I am captive – held in a place only select few dare to follow;
My captors and saviours combined into one.
Those men in white coats.

Waiting as they summon us one by one,
Every noise that emanates from the Room
Is amplified - Screams, yells and thuds reverberating
Until I can’t hear my own thoughts anymore.
Fists clenched, sweat dripping, my body tense.
Why? Why go through this pain in the name of hope?

But then again, I’m desperate
And desperate times call for desperate measures.

So I won’t run and hide when they call my name,
I’ll stand tall and walk t’ward the door.
Fingers crossed they’ll do the deed,

A little taste of immortality for me…

c.l.

edit: sorry about the dodgy spacing, it won't go away...