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Literature Text
Rows of eyes staring
In the sunny waiting room.
Scrutinising what you have and
Mourning over what they have
Lost or never had.
The doctor comes in and
Ushers him into the dark hall
As I wait in foot tapping agony.
The woman passes on a wheelchair,
Both legs gone.
She lowers her eyes towards my feet.
It is painted in lacquer and coated in stars.
I lower my eyes towards
The pasty linoleum floor.
She passes me by.
I suspect a hidden envy that
Lies behind acceptance.
The doctor comes back,
Obviously distressed.
“He won’t stop crying,
Come in and see if
You can lend a hand.”
I enter. My little friend cries in
The doctor’s workshop,
Clutching the tiny stump
Upon his delicate arm.
But after a full five minutes
Of soothing consolations
He cautiously dips his stump
Into the cold mushy plaster.
And that was it for today.
I, the oddity amongst the rest.
Physically complete,
But certainly not mentally –
Never so.
I turn and flee away from
The place where I
Do not belong.
From the shelves of lone arms
In search of an owner.
From the cabinets of fingers
In search of a home.
I am sorry I do not need them
Like you may.
But would you love me less?
Then the butcher’s knives may
Come in handy
To fit amongst the rest.
In the sunny waiting room.
Scrutinising what you have and
Mourning over what they have
Lost or never had.
The doctor comes in and
Ushers him into the dark hall
As I wait in foot tapping agony.
The woman passes on a wheelchair,
Both legs gone.
She lowers her eyes towards my feet.
It is painted in lacquer and coated in stars.
I lower my eyes towards
The pasty linoleum floor.
She passes me by.
I suspect a hidden envy that
Lies behind acceptance.
The doctor comes back,
Obviously distressed.
“He won’t stop crying,
Come in and see if
You can lend a hand.”
I enter. My little friend cries in
The doctor’s workshop,
Clutching the tiny stump
Upon his delicate arm.
But after a full five minutes
Of soothing consolations
He cautiously dips his stump
Into the cold mushy plaster.
And that was it for today.
I, the oddity amongst the rest.
Physically complete,
But certainly not mentally –
Never so.
I turn and flee away from
The place where I
Do not belong.
From the shelves of lone arms
In search of an owner.
From the cabinets of fingers
In search of a home.
I am sorry I do not need them
Like you may.
But would you love me less?
Then the butcher’s knives may
Come in handy
To fit amongst the rest.
Only about two people on deviantart know my life story. Perhaps even they don't know it all.
What I meant to say is that this poem came to me randomly while I was reflecting on past experiences and the feelings of one or two people in my life who are affected by it. Some of the events mentioned are real, and some of them are not. The overall tone of the poem is definitely not my attitude on the subject, but there we go.
I'm not making much sense, am I?
This poem is not very well structured. But I think that is the beauty of it. It kind of relates to the poem as well, in a way. Or maybe I'm just being silly.
What I meant to say is that this poem came to me randomly while I was reflecting on past experiences and the feelings of one or two people in my life who are affected by it. Some of the events mentioned are real, and some of them are not. The overall tone of the poem is definitely not my attitude on the subject, but there we go.
I'm not making much sense, am I?
This poem is not very well structured. But I think that is the beauty of it. It kind of relates to the poem as well, in a way. Or maybe I'm just being silly.
© 2006 - 2024 theanswertolife
Comments16
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Simple questions first. 1) Why do you capitalize the first word of each line? You don't have to do that any more, and most people don't, since it makes for more normal reading not to. 2) Is scrutinising a Brit thing? I'm used to scrutinizing.
Now for the poem: It makes sense even if you don't. So be glad for what you have, not sorry for what you don't (or do) have. Where did that idea come from? Hmm. Personally, I think your poem's very well structured. And it's about something fundamental and important most of us can relate to but rarely talk about or even face honestly. And that makes the poem itself important. I do think you should tweak the wording some and punctuate it more carefully, even if that does make it seem less spontaneous to you. Your message always comes through better the more careful you are with your craft. Have you read any of ^imperfect's poems? She writes wonderfully well, in a style that usually appears spontaneous in spite if its grace and eloquence, and which has much in common with the way you've written this.
Now for the poem: It makes sense even if you don't. So be glad for what you have, not sorry for what you don't (or do) have. Where did that idea come from? Hmm. Personally, I think your poem's very well structured. And it's about something fundamental and important most of us can relate to but rarely talk about or even face honestly. And that makes the poem itself important. I do think you should tweak the wording some and punctuate it more carefully, even if that does make it seem less spontaneous to you. Your message always comes through better the more careful you are with your craft. Have you read any of ^imperfect's poems? She writes wonderfully well, in a style that usually appears spontaneous in spite if its grace and eloquence, and which has much in common with the way you've written this.