It Is Enough

In weary pain,
I wake from
No sleep.
My body
Cold sweat,
Silent, through
Screaming pores.
Grey dawn mists
Slowly drift
Revealing only
More pain.
The night’s
Are to be worn
Beneath my skin,
Wild with mad
Gyrating cilia.
In my little
Corner room,
With books
I vainly try
To quit my
Groans and cries.
If I relax
This tension
Forcing movement,
I shall fall back
Into  the wailing
Of agonies,
Which is the
Night I carry
As flesh.
There is no one
To hear,
But the dogs,
Always listening
With heart, hear me,
And whimper.
I force myself
Into quiet.
How can
My skin
The living thorns,
Burning nettles,
The hellish dance
Of damned
Wasps stinging,
Fiery welts
Visible only through
Demyelinated nerves?
How conceal
The crawling ants,
And fleas biting,
Biting everywhere,
The tiny piranhas
Chewing my legs,
My face, my arms,
And my broken back?
I am clothed
In shimmering
Veils of pain.
I brush pain
Through my hair,
Parting grief
And sorrow
To be a silvered
Plait of endurance.
Can this puny neck
Hold such a
Burdensome head?
Will my smile
Crack my aged
Screaming mask?
From what well may I
Replenish strength?
There is a child
Who needs to know
She is wonderfully made.
She needs to know
She is joy to my eyes.
It is love
That animates
My creaking body.
It is love that
Smoothes my
Frantic grimacing
Into gentle
Smiling serenity.
There is a small child
Waiting for
Her happy Granny,
A Granny
Always delighted
To see her.
With dancing eyes,
And sparkling joy,
That laughing,
Strong, cuddly
Granny, full of fun,
Is me,
It is love
That replenished
My strength.
It is love that
Puts the sparkle
In my eyes,
And is love
That allows
Me to laugh,
If only for
A little while.
It is enough
To know a small
Child’s smile.
Bear … 01.13.2015