sick boy

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    sick boy

    when i was a child very much like death
    pain was in my heart and head
    migraines in those darkened rooms
    nausea spins on a witches broom
    fractured with my knees to chest
    mother somehow helped me rest
    growing, aching, crying, breaking
    what a deal the devils' making
    shunned of recreated fun
    i learned to live without the sun
    and all my friends who took my toys
    forgot about this little sick boy
    but i survived, alive you see
    those aches and pains turned into me.




    2009

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    EyesOfRain commented on sick boy

    08-26-2012

    Awww :((( I hate to even think about a child suffering. Very moving. I'm glad you have physically recovered!

    cheronld commented on sick boy

    06-19-2010

    You painted a picture of this little boy and my heart went out him and then cheered when he overcame....another great write...

    hjaycarney commented on sick boy

    04-29-2010

    so far, for me, this one flows the best without the slightest trace of hesitation. love the line about the deal the devil's making. Exceptional writing. Very impressive. best, jay

    lithiumblack commented on sick boy

    03-25-2010

    Dark pasts give us foundations on which to build a brighter present, and a hopeful future. Just be glad the sick boy wasn't also twisted...but then, only twisted people have any fun ;) Great write, brother.

    Crush

    03/26/2010

    true that. thanks for your time and energy. it is with great reward that i receive your critique. love your work !

    Tempestlady commented on sick boy

    10-25-2009

    The fates have an unusual way of balancing it out in the end don't they. Hopefully they were successful in giving you those things now that you couldn't enjoy then. If your picture is true, then you sure don't look sick anymore. Sorry for the loneliness and longing you sufferred if this was you. But write on.....

    Crush

    10/26/2009

    yeah, i had horrible migraines as a child and spent many a summer day indoors, in dark rooms. but after those midgraines would pass, i ALWAYS felt like a million dollars.

    Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

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