Head; heavy, hot, quaking as from a furious party
Of inebriated demons in a drumming session
Unable to effectively coordinate the Sensitive Four
Their weights, once not challenges worth considering
Eyes; blurred, dim sight
Unable to juggle light and dark for good vision
Ears; totally asleep
Sounds hold no meaning nor respite
Nostrils; wheezing, sneezing and blocked
Painless and stress-less air breathing
Become arduous, like drawing liquid from ice through straw
Mouth; instrument of taste and talk
Gummed shut from lack of use
Galled, rendering tasteless all mouthy pleasures
Limbs; lagging, limp and lacking luster
Unfit for purpose at the moment of infirm
Every step an odious effort in trudgery
Quakes and aches from every ball and socket
Mind; drugged and askew from discomfiture
Manured ground for hallucinations
Making the grim reaper seem ever so close
From eyes stinging with hot tears,
Trickling to sleeping ears,
To nose sniffling in close quarters,
Gummed mouths moan in misery, seeking deliverance
From the unjustified proximity to a glimpse of beyond
Such is the sad song of the infirm
how come I just found this blog?? where have I been??
you write extremely well and your descriptions are almost real. I am sure going to be here for a while.