I sigh. A moment of closed eyes, a moment of thankfulness for what was saved. I open my eyes and read. What wonder, what strangeness! The fragments scribbled in my uneven hand are strangers to me. From what corner of my soul came they? Is meaning hidden within? Could I divine some future or unknown truth from these odd fragments of subconscious? A silent scoff enters my mind – ah, that’s my logic, awake now. Dreams are nothing, merely the brain making peace with old learnings and paving the way for fresh knowledge, my logic tells me. I smile, shaking my head. It matters little, I decide, whether dreams hold magic, or are side-effects of an ever-growing mind. They are miraculous, odd, and dearly welcome worlds within to explore and cherish.
My wife and I are especially happy tonight – after a long day of fretting and fear, our little boy has left the hospital with only a few stitches in his nose.
During those hours when we didn’t know, when we were waiting for the CT results, my thoughts came out as the following piece. I always say that I don’t write poetry, and yet, sometimes my writing looks just a bit like it.
My boy is in their care
Men wearing masks study
Seek inside, analyze, diagnose
Fate in their hands, fear in my head
Pacing linoleum halls,
Blind to all but my own
The fall repeats in fevered memory
That damned second my hands weren’t there
A messenger at last. My heart misses a beat.
Fates have been kind to mete out this goodness
Despite hours lost, anticipation spent,
Relief is all I need to feel.
We leave the sterility
Our blessings plain,
Our joy immeasurable.
Recovery Through Words
Under needful eyes, I tend to those I love.
There is happiness, laughter at times. Moments of mirth.
One second, all is at peace. Then, I slip.
I missed something. I forgot. I reacted improperly.
Another failure, a scrap torn from the tattered tapestry of my soul.
Forgiveness comes, more laboured with each little wrong.
Determined, I pull on, speaking through keys rapidly tapped in the dark of night.
Expression is my saviour, sharing is my deliverance.
For only paper or screen serves as canvas for my inner self.
Only with a palette of 26 colours can I paint its beauty.