LINES...

written on 28th June, 1989.

These sterile walls are bare, except for a framed representation
of a nursery rhyme whose title escapes me.
Apprensions dwell within it's symbolism - and my worst nightmare.
The mouse's burnt dress is a portent of my destiny.
The sun creeps across these walls, dazzlingly white.

Darkened walls now. Blank, devoid of hope. Utter desolation.
Wish I could escape my own mind: thoughts
spiralling down into a black pit, with emotions swiftly following.
There is no way out of this place
of perpetual profound agony.

The red depths wince continually:
a broken pump and two struggling bellows,
mechanically clinging to a pointless existence.
This is all I am now. This - and the terror
of glancing behind myself and seeing what I know is there.

Suddenly, outside, deafening thunder and lightening.
It's as if the World's very Soul, like mine, is being ripped apart.
All hope of salvation is lost on this ward.
Petrified, I turn and approach the incubator:
my tiny, helpless baby is still lying there,

but now she's no longer moving.
She is turning grey as a leaden sky.
She will have passed away in the next few moments. It
is only now all the myriad tubes have been removed
that I can finally hold her for the very first (and last) time...


I have more medical tests and treatments coming up in the next few weeks and months, but will visit as often as I can.
Do hope you can forgive my absences as and when they occur...xxx