This concussion is a constriction
squeezing my head like a snake
hugging my eyes closed.
Light pressure. Dark daylight.
Just a little inconvenience.
I’m tired of this hacking cough
I wish these bugs would bugger off.
It’s hard to breathe; I’m prone to sneeze.
I wish this cough would stop!
poetry is art in words:
the visual spoken,
essence distilled,
passion
revealed.
Sometimes you capture the most lovely phrases in conversations around you, and they beg to be put into a poem…
.
You are the promise I made to myself,
A gift worth the challenges faced.
You are the promise I dream in faith,
A gift worth the challenges raced.
You are the promise I made to myself.
.
I will fulfil your specific yearning,
A gift of my heart and my time.
I will fulfil the goals unfurling,
A gift of my love and my rhyme.
I will fulfil your specific yearning.
.
You are the promise I made to myself.