 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.
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 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 |