Sick Bed

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

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.

Thank you

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

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.

This was really quite good, if dark! :thumbs_up

Thank you