Tendons, vessels, muscle, bone-
little more than its sum, alone.
Without life, alone.
A heart upon your fingers,
fibers smooth, firmness lingers.
A pump sleeps, alone.
Nerves, severed and denuded,
shimmering, taut, function diluted.
Pain without feeling, alone.
A lung, delicate sponge, blackened,
absorbs an essence, greyed, maddened.
Vacant sacs, stale breaths, alone.
The cerebrum, split, its valleys and mounds,
embodies a soul, full, without bounds.
My lifeless being is nothing alone.
Categories: All Poetry, Medical Poetry, Medicine, Poetry by Phoebe
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This is amazing. Artwork and words. A perfect journey.
Thank you, John. 🙂
You are welcome my friend.
Very well-crafted poem. Rhythm and rhyme contribute to the general texture and meaning of the poem. I like the refrain lines and the repetition of the word “alone.” You have a great gift which, together with your skills as a doctor, make for very significant poetry. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you for your kind words, Jim. 🙂 Best, phoebe
So well done Phoebe! Happy to read your creation again 🙂
😉 😀
I enjoy the rhythm, rhyme, and assonance…you took the extra time to craft the words…
This is excellent! I really enjoyed it. Thanks.