Anaesthetic
My brother is not grinning
Deep in his sleep
He's not smiling
When his eyes open, they don't glow like they used to be;
the way we were running in the rain covered in mud
from dust the driest day brought
In a white gown his face is empty
He sees me but doesn’t need me,
Hears me but isn’t really with me
Wake up!
Play again!
Push me around on the bike
Tickle me
Tease me
Trick me
Anything…
Just wake up!
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Unknown Source
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| ............. ............. ... |
0 | 12/13/2009 |
| It's rainy day | 1 | 12/13/2009 |
| Saved by the angels | 0 | 12/13/2009 |
| Edgwarebury Park | 2 | 06/21/2009 |
| Starlings | 0 | 06/10/2009 |
| Anaesthetic | 0 | 12/13/2009 |
| A Housewife's Moment of Sanity | 1 | 12/13/2009 |
| One Lucky Immigrant | 1 | 05/28/2009 |
| Auschwitz - Gaza | 1 | 05/28/2009 |
| To an "ex-Mum" | 1 | 05/28/2009 |
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