Acutely ill again, sharing with others so much pain.

I watch them shuffle. I hear them mumble.

They sit and cry their only wish to fall asleep and die.

They rant and rave, screaming their way to an early grave.

Drugged, sedated, my diagnosis clear, not debated.

I must put pen to paper to survive, just to stay alive.

My only way to handle life’s endless wear and tear.

I understand why I am back in well-known land.

Nurses wander round to help us with our curses.

Their care and kindness shown to all without compare.

Inside I cannot my fate control and once outside I’m on parole.

Every day I’m filled with fear, friends and family nowhere near.

Conversation with my partner strained, never any progress gained.

I demand to stay alive however much my life seems damned.

My world is like a butterfly, ever floating ‘twixt low and high.

But hope resides, however rotten, when once again I’m at the bottom.

One day they will let me out without my having any shout.

I have no choice but to bide my time, my mental state alone my crime.

Deserted, lost in space, I cling on still with all God’s grace.

There is a purpose to all we do, however much our times are blue.

Whoever you or I my friend, on God’s love we may depend.

I extend to you my hand in care. With my utmost will I share.

If you feel life’s all over like a smoking gun, I assure you it’s only just begun.

Days of happiness lie ahead. Let’s not live in fear and dread.

© 2017 James Hanna-Magill

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