Her words come out like
dragon's breath as I stared beyond her eyes. The fire all consuming as the smoke begins to rise. I dash behind the stone wall to escape the endless burn. Her touch I shall discover is what I have to learn. Her kiss never meant to singe me as she opens her heart. The scales of a beastly burden deceiving from the start. Come fly with me she bellows, her nostrils hot like coal. Her wings just like the angels what little did I know. And off we soar as if we have nowhere else to go, for between her heart and heaven I ride and love her so.
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No one really knows what they're getting into when they decide to go to medical school. Barely adults, asymptotically perfect, we all come climbing what will always be society's ladders. In search of the pinnacle of solace we write personal statements about the grandeur of healing, about understanding the intricacies of the human design, about tempting fate and playing God without admitting we are human too. What did you think in your first lecture when you realized all 170 people in the room didn't know the answer? What do you feel after your first test when the screen only told you you were 68% perfect? What did you do when the truth came crashing down that you were not in Kansas? I wish I could say our medical schools make more doctors than they make patients, but perhaps it takes being broken to ever truly learn that we are all just here to heal. The moon fell fast asleep
as we gazed into its glow, Deciding she would like to see where the dreamers go. But the stars were not so keen to be left there all alone, knowing night would soon grow dark without their rock and stone. For the moon had been their life, a mother to them all, a light and loving presence for all things big and small. For the moon could see the truth within the vast old Milky Way that the sun was not the one giving light to make the day. For the stars and their reflection were actually behind the ray that would find the hearts of humans and show us how to pray, for all the things now shining, beyond the great divide where dreamers went to live and darkness went to hide. The woman
in the wrinkled teal scrubs and dripping mascara talks to me through whispers cascading through the ether on their own heroes journey. The whispers, themselves alive just trying to find their way home between my arms and into my heart so they can finally speak and sing the harmony my desperate ears and wandering mind only now, years later would know as the birth of love. Before
I'm not sure what there was but it most certainly wasn't love, wasn't burning for every waking moment to become an indestructible memory, wasn't the ecstasy the guessing the utter and complete unraveling, wasn't the mana that would revive me, then kill me and birth me to bleed again, wasn't the nights spent wondering how could this have manifest, wasn't the car rides wearing water when all I had were sobs and tears, wasn't' the morning you said yes before you ever knew my name for "before" was meant so I could love you when you came. The sunlight splashed
upon your cheek illuminating a truth I had yet to behold. For bathed in light and birthed by warmth was the smile of an angel, descended from stars and forged by flames, sent from He who has given us the love that had overwhelmed my heart and entered my soul, carrying me to this present moment, where time would sleep and my spirit would wake as sunlight splashed upon your cheek. I'm sorry I say
over and over again. I can't stop apologizing for the things I have done, haven't done, won't do will forget to do, will eventually do, was destined to do, yet all she says is Stop Stop Stop. I stare into the books of her eyes, the story of her life written in a spiral inside the stormy iris, clouded by the mistakes she made. I made, we all made on this tiny little Earth, in this tiny little galaxy in this tiny little universe inside the stormy iris of a God who perhaps can make mistakes too. Sometimes I feel like a poet
wearing a stethoscope with a vocabulary and acronyms my profession confuses for language. Sometimes I wonder what people think when I’m listening, eyes closed searching for something more than a heartbeat. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with a stethoscope until I find the place in you where God hid Love. Stuck in the karmic wheel
Medicine cannot see that with every leak patched by drugs, with every 12 minute visit ending in complete dismissal, with every soul told food doesn’t matter, the grave gets deeper and deeper, and deeper. If only, if only the end had come at six feet deep. That afternoon
On the fifth floor When I forgot what it Meant to be Afraid, And you let me see What you had spent Your entire life Trying to hide from the World, I wept with your tears As if I had always been Inside of you, Tucked away In a space That even you could not Destroy. For yes, Despite my belief in the Search, And the courageously laid Out Plan, There would be no finding what could never be lost Only a revealing Of the love You had saved For me |
PoetryBecause all that science just gets old after a while. Archives
October 2019
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