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The Poetry of Lisa A. Rison
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THE DEATH OF ME I went to see the doctor With my raging body migraine Pain, pain, oh glorious pain I'm ALIVE! I went to see the doctors The egotistical doctors With my raging pain A horrible pain These many, many doctors And their monstrous egos Imagine their intelligence So far surpasses my intelligence To the extent that their ears Find my words meaningless Those egotistical doctors Those money hungry people Swat me away like a fly Ignore my pain Ignore the research, The very substantial research The pain so severe, Engulfing my thoughts The pain that yells Oh! Won't you just DIE? First, do no harm Do NO harm Isn't that what doctors are taught? I think not In this day and age of mangled care Would they care if the pain ate me alive? If the pain, the dictator pain, In a moment of agony Stole my life By blade By pills By a gun I believe the doctors would care naught For their egos blind them To the reality of this pain The protection of their license Creates a type of behavior That allows them to turn a deaf ear And blind eyes Toward Folks like you and I Fibromyalgics "Oh please", shouts the doctor, "Won't you just die?" Lisa A. Rison October 15, 2002
Another Place, Another Time Lisa A. Rison 2001 Going Over |
Where Do I Stand? On my journey to godhead I chanced to look inside myself To see where I was And knew that where I stood I was a long way off Adrift in a sea of pain Agony And heartache (Can you hear the screams bouncing through the hall?) Wrapped unknown In an impenetrable gloom Peeled back Standing in light Looking out Seeing the layers as layers Yet unable to see through them Knowing what was within Without understanding And you see… A woman with dark hair In a dark room With a long dress on Light in color, loose, comfortable, billowy Leaning over a window sill Silky, filmy curtains blowing in a light warmish wind Late sunset glow outside the window Amber and red Black at the edges Shadows in the corners play And her hair moves calmly near her face Eyes move in the darkness outside the window A candle burns near her (Can you see the vines growing on her walls?) Flickering shadows over her face And she looks intensely into the night Knowing what is there Without her sight to see it She straightens a little No longer intense on the night Then her eyes turn to her room Lit and unlit She walks and sits And looks back inside… Lisa A. Rison 2001
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