Practicing Medicine

One day
I started practicing 
medicine
As if I were writing a poem.
Deliberately empty
I was listening to the soft,
small voice
asking to find a way home in
this vast, hard world. 
Listening to the story,
revealing.
as if eery syllable
was the last breath
of God
I forgot I was human
and brought forth what
could
and couldn't
be me.
For what really are
symptoms
and poems
but reasons to become
silent
and speak what can't be
said
​with words.