Sick Bed

[Dark Muse]

Sick Bed

Be still-
pale fire burns
eyes count flies
upon white-washed
ceiling

Unmoving-
a word spoke
hard steel
has a taste

Crimson-
stains becoming
rouge painted
on impure skin

Lips parted
sympathy wasted
breath stirs
barely

Weakened-
in shadows
prostrated
before cracks
in the wall

Chipped paint-
marks the time
dust and death
on the floor

Decay-
tasted
bitter and sweet
sour realization

All the white
flowers
whiter
and gray

Hours pass-
without a change
curtain stirs
hushed as death

[jon1jt]

Nice. My only concern was with your mentioning death in the middle of the poem which takes some of the umph out of the last line.

My favorite definitely:

Weakened-
in shadows
prostrated
before cracks


write on muse.

[Dark Muse]

Thank you

[Delta40]

I think it sounds quickened - like the gasps of a sick person. It doesn't sit well but then that is its effect because sickness has no real comfort. How to get pleasure from this....mmmm

[jon1jt]

Yes, there is an abiding pain in this, eh? Counting flies, morose image, works beautifully here. After a second read I'm wondering about the symbolism, if any, having to do with the white flowers turning whiter and gray. Whiter in the sense of reversal---as a drawing closer to life after death? Interesting.

[Pendragon]

This was really quite good, if dark! :thumbs_up

[Dark Muse]

Thank you