The Poetry of Rita Shaw

No Matter the Limits....
As featured in Fibromyalgia and Chronic Myofascial Pain 2nd Ed: A Survival Manual
Devin Starlanyl and Mary Ellen Copeland. Email Rita Shaw, if you are interested in her work.

It is such a relief
when you first find out,
that the pain really does
have a name.

And then you will ask,
(and every one does)
just where can I place
all the blame?

No matter the limits
no matter the pain,
there's no evil, cruel
master plan.

It just simply happens,
it just simply is,
you adapt, and you change
what you can.

But even with knowing
the best and the worst,
all the pitfalls the
future could hold.

You still have a choice,
you quit or you fight,
you determine the
story that's told.

And every small step
that we take, my dear friends,
each battle that we
slowly win,

Just credits the love
and the caring we share,
with the FMily that we
call our friends.

**Copyright Rita Shaw, 1995

The Gift of Lilacs

When pain became a constant intruder
past, present, and forseeable future
the anger and frustration invading my every move
with sharp shattered glass of vivid scarlet,
I fled to my garden, where I could rage unseen.

Each weed became a dream since lost
torn by its roots and thrown
onto an evergrowing pile of unattainable goals.
Every overgrown bush became a living sacrifice,
falling victim to the reality of the life now faced.

I slashed and I cursed
until suddenly my finger was snared by a big, vicious, piercing thorn!
And I sat sobbing, more from sadness than pain.

The morning breeze gave a gentle sigh, and
I became aware of the lilac by my shoulder,
planted just last spring on the shy side of June.
The first, fragile blossoms had tumbled open
and its fragrance stilled my tears and eased my grief.

Then Nature, in her wisdom, turned
the earth once more upon its silent axis.
Pain and sorrow silenced by quiet beauty.
Gifts given only to those whose eyes are open,
soothing lavendar salve, perfumed to heal my wounds.

*Copyright Rita Shaw 1995


I was convinced that my life
was firmly in hand,
at least, that's what I said.
Until I found out
(as people said of my pain)
'You know, that is all in your head!'

My battles were waged
against this disease,
'I'll carry my share, damn the cost!'
But reactions I got
from both family and friends,
told me clearly just what I had lost.

My concentration was shot,
my memory was nil,
and I'd lost what was left of my mind.
For physical sports,
friends wouldn't even call,
they thought they were just being kind.

I raged all alone
in my own little world,
betrayed by my body and hurt.
With isolation, and anger,
low-self image and more,
the dependency hurt me the worst...

until the 'I' that I was
quit fighting in vain,
and the 'I that I am' came to be.
Acceptance, adapting,
and coping with life
were the secrets that set me free.

I find that my life
is now full and complete,
once I set my priorities in place.
I have time for myself,
my family and friends,
since I live at a more tranquil pace.

You'll discover for all
the chores you let go,
each time that you step aside,
all the tasks and the errands
and trivial things
someone else will now handle in stride.

If you really want
to take charge of yourself,
know which battles you DON'T need to win.
For the first time, you'll know,
you ARE in control,
and the rest of your life can begin.

Relax, adapt
and take charge, my dear friends.
for you know that's what you must do.
If you care for yourself,
let go and let love,
and the world will still wait for you.

*Rita Shaw copyright 1995

You say you understand....

You said you understand
just what I am going thru and how I feel.
I don't believe you!
First you must go to bed each night for a month
only to be wakened every two hours or so by the pain
from the rocks on which you sleep.
You must have a diet which keeps you within sprinting distance
from the 'rest' room where you never rest,
while providing fragrant gas, extra calories and copious heartburn.
You know those 'pregnancy bellys' they give men to help them understand
how the pregnant woman feels?
You must wear a suit with fifty pounds of extra weight
spread everywhere, pulling on muscles you never knew you had
until they scream in protest against the strain.
Every walk, every step that you take must be uphill
and on uneven ground with pitfalls and potholes at every turn
waiting for your unstable gait and ankles lusting to throw you one more time.
You must wear mufflers over your ears
that distort what is spoken clearly to others.
Instructions must be given half in an unknown language
and at a speed and complexity that forbids comprehension.
Your daily tasks must be exactly twice your ability to complete.
Your memory and judgement must be clouded by drugs and/or exhaustion
until you question your sanity, intelligence and emotional stability,
while you continue to struggle to maintain your separate identity
above and beyond this invader that has taken over your body.
Your pleas for understanding and relief must fall on deaf ears
of family, friends, co-workers, medical personnel, and government officials.
And all of the above limitations must be invisible, intolerable and denied
by those who proclaim
'Have you tried therapy, bucking up, working a little harder, paying attention,
for you know these problems are probably just in your mind. If you
would just try......'

Then, I might believe you understand.

*Rita Shaw copyright 1995

The Poetry of Joan Currier



I can’t return.
Mired in the swamp
of depression,
My body is wracked
by incessant pain:
Nerves afire
in unquenchable agony.
No sleep, no dreams,
no relief available.
One by one
the body’s systems
reach overload.
No spring of silence
to grant welcome relief.
I have no strength
to reach that spring;
the chronic pain
saps me of strength,
of life.
Alone, yet not:
others share
the swamp with me.
All alike, yet each alone,
we writhe together
in solo agony.
No one  sees the swamp we share:
just the ones entrapped within.
“malingerers”, they label us;
“it’s in your head”, “stop making a fuss”.
Without the sight to really see
how can they help us
to break free?
Oh, let the sun
dispel the gloom
and free us
from our fiery doom.

Joan Currier  copyright 2002


Upright     (for MiriJ)

You ask me how I am today,
(but don’t really want to know).
I smile and say:  “I’m Upright”,
and then I let you go.
If I really told the truth to you
you’d never ask again;
I’d probably never see a trace
of hide nor hair--but then,
When one is living as I do
and pain is in degrees
of “major”, “massive”, “overwhelmed”
why fuss with niceties?

Joan Currier copyright 3/2002




But, alas, I could not stay
in those sacred depths:
the Powers that Were said I was weak
and the spring was too deep for my weakness.
I had to ascend to the shimmering surface,
leave my joy for a city’s tumult.
But I will return.   I must return.

Joan Currier



CyberKitty for “CallieV8” , age 3 mos. 1/10/02

“Mrrrrr?” you ask, as you pat the screen.
“Where are all my friends today?”
“Mrrrrr!”you purr as the desktop gleams
“Won’t you please come out and play?”

I’m trying to work, you silly kit,
How can I even see the page?
When you insist, and then you sit
On the keyboard, in the way?

“Mrrrew!” you exclaim when the printer starts,
then you try to catch the sheet
as it slips out of your tiny grasp
and makes you land in a furry heap.

Oh, little one, you are so cute,
but you send my thoughts so far astray
as you try to catch the cursor, dear,
all you want to do is play, play, play!

How can I get my letters done
when I can’t even see the screen?
Your precious  body’s in the way
sometimes you make me want to scream!

“Mrrrew!” you say as you knock the pen
onto the floor again, again,
“Mrrrew!” you cry as the papers fly.
You really need your own playpen!

And then you sit upon my wrist,
(Your purr is  more a thrumming roar)
And take your nap to get the strength
to play with Mac some more, some morrrrrr!

Joan Currier  copyright 2002


The Spring of Silence 1968

I sought it
in the noisy tumult of the city,
but could not find it.

Leaving the city,
I found it at last, and
timidly waded in, feeling its soft,
cool swirling
about me;
I felt its soothing caresses, saw its
peaceful beach
where I could rest, and
its low, sweet gurgling and the
tinkling music
as it swished around me.

Summoning my courage, I plunged
into its cool, blue depths:
Deeper and deeper I dived,
My body tingling with its
clear, cold exhilaration.

He came to me as I swam.
He whispered marvelous things:
words of solace, of peace,
of love,  promises!
My heart was brimming over
with His love, and
we spent an eternity of moments
in a
dialogue of shared secrets.

Joan Currier



Night-- for a Fibromite

The sky darkens:  night is here--again.
I pray that this one
is better than the one before.

Meds taken, I start the routine
to prepare myself
for desperately needed sleep:

Soft music, low light, gentle yogic postures
and meditation:
A mental journey to a peaceful wood
to leave my burdens for a bit.
I pray by that soothing brook
for release from pain--
if only for a little while.

Climbing wearily into my wool-warm bed,
I pull the comforter loosely around me.
My old cat has already gone to sleep,
but she sleepily rumbles hi, and goodnight.
As I pile my pillows to make a nest
of warmth and softness to cushion my pain-wracked body.

Restlessly moving, starting at every creak
as this old house settles itself for sleep,
I drop into a drug-induced doze
only to waken with pain’s insistent summons
a few hours later.

Tossing and turning, I reposition myself
for the umpteenth time, and doze off again,
only to be awakened by the need
for a quick trip across the hall--
but there’s only a bare trickle
when there should have been a flood.

Once again I climb into my rumpled nest
Once again I slip into fitful slumber
to dream:  wild, scary, horrible things
that wake me once again.
The fan above, black in the night
against a ceiling of moonlit white
appears to be a giant hand
reaching down to enfold me.

The ticking of the bedside clock, to others barely heard,
to me is loud, TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK
and what is really weird,
under the cushion, in a sock!

Now the furnace fires up,
tornadic winds begin.
(at least to me it seems that way)
I shrug in my chagrin,
turn over, reposition limbs,
and fall asleep again.

The sky lightens: day is here--again.
Four dreams with no endings,
My bed in a heap,
Maybe tonight I’ll get better sleep?

Joan Currier   copyright 2002


***Winter Silence***

The snow slips in silently
as a kitten on a quest
covering all it falls upon
with a soft, clean blanket
of shining white.

The evergreens:  pines, spruce, cedar and fir,
are draped in gossamer shawls,
and the bare branches of aspen, ash and oak
are frosted and highlighted
like a bevy of blonde beauties.

A hush descends upon the forest,
and the stream gurgles quietly under its frozen lid
as a graceful doe glides silently through the meadow
and her yearling fawns romp like schoolchildren
at recess.

Sunlight filters through the snowfall,
casting soft shadows among the trees,
as nimble squirrels, too hungry to sleep,
scamper precariously to reach
the last hanging seeds of the horse chestnut.

The mountains watch imperiously
as I slide along on silent skis,
as if affronted and indignant
that I dare enter their presence.

Please, kind sirs and madams,
let me stay but a little while
to absorb the peace of your domain
before returning to the noisy town

Joan Currier  copyright 2002



Pain Is A Four-Letter Word

Pain, with each heartbeat, throbs through my body
 Like the booming bass from the passing cars;
The trains that roar through at the end of my street
Echo the constant rumble of muscles, in knots,
That roar through my attempts to sleep.

Sound is too loud, Light is too bright,
Smells that others may not even detect make me deathly ill,
But no one sees, no one understands.  Does anyone care?
“You look fine to me, are you better now?  Have you tried to get a job?”
But no one listens when I try to explain
That “better” will never be.

With a brain that can’t think, hands that won’t work,
A back that keeps failing with each tiny jerk.
Pain in my head, in my jaw, in my neck,
Pain in my chest, arms, back, legs, and, heck!
Even my feet won’t work the way
that they used to do just yesterday.

Pain all the night, and pain all the day,
Pain that will never, ever go away.
Pills and potions, massage lotions,
Diet, and Yoga, and Prayers galore.
And now they say I have Diabetes.
Stop! Please! I can’t handle anymore!

I live with my mother, she understands some
of what I’m trying to survive.
But only my friends with FM and MS
Know how hard it is to be alive.

I understand their pain, They understand mine:
We see it in each other’s eyes,
But we can’t hug each other--it hurts too much.
Spasms and trigger points keep up apart,
But we cry together, laugh together,
do our best to just stay together,
Sisters in Pain with the same heart.

Joan Currier  copyright 2002

 The Poetry of Lisa A. Rison


I went to see the doctor
With my raging body migraine
Pain, pain, oh glorious pain
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
Folks like you and I
"Oh please", shouts the doctor,
"Won't you just die?"

Lisa A. Rison
October 15, 2002


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
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


Parts of A Whole

I had to look again
At what I thought I couldn't see
Then I sensed there was no vision in my sight
I took a step away from my concept of sight
And again there was something unseen
Known but felt
I still swam peaceful
You in me
I felt you with a certainty
Uncertain I turned to look again
And liked what I saw unseen but felt
And wondered about what I thought I knew
And knew what I thought deep inside
I caressed your thought in my mind
Separate from the body
Yet, part of the whole
And felt the peace
Where inside myself I swim in you
You swim in me
And felt a delight
As a tear rolled hot and splashed

Lisa A. Rison 2001

Another Place, Another Time

I longed for something
This I knew
An intangible something
Something that I thought I saw in you
But when I looked again I knew
There was nothing I could see of you
There was something
I dared to still my sense five
And began to feel with the other sense inside
Inside myself I perceived your essence
Unknown but felt
A mystery from another place
A picture drawn behind my face
Of a scene unseen…
I had seen with eyes unopened something
Something that was composed of you
Something felt
Inside myself I swam in you

Lisa A. Rison 2001

The Poetry of Kammy Salmon


Why do I have to suffer

Why do I have to suffer?

Why me do I ask?

Why can’t I be healthy?

In a healthy body I could bask !

But no, I have headaches and muscle spasms

Weakness and pain so severe !

Great aches and pain so bad

I’m sure you don’t wanna hear !

I didn’t ask for this

I tried so hard to ignore

But no matter how hard I tried

I couldn’t do it anymore !

I had to find a doctor

He ran test after test

He couldn’t find the answer

Fibromyalgia was his best !

So where do I go from here?

No one really knows

I guess I have to live with it

So the story goes !

I get up every day

I rely on lots of pills

To get through every task

To try to cure my ills !

And though there is no answer

Each day I hope and pray

That there will be a hope

A miraculous cure someday ! 

© 4-16-04 Kammy Salmon



Send me an Angel

Oh Lord send me an Angel

To help get me through this pain

I really can’t deal with it

I can’t go through it again !

It seems to never go away

It’s there all the time

How I wish for “A pain free day”

Just once more in this life of mine !

Then I could go out dancing

Maybe shopping all day too

And be the person I once was

Just for a day or two ! 

I know it may never happen

But an Angel sure would be nice

She could really help me

Maybe give me some advice !

So I can make it through

One more day again

With someone to lean on

A true divine friend !

©Kammy Salmon


Fibromyalgia is Real

Fibromyalgia is real

There is no doubt

If you don’t believe it

Here’s what it is all about !

It’s about being a professional

At the top of your career

And losing your future

In less than a year

It’s about having unrelenting pain

No one can figure out

Having test after test

That shows nothing but doubt

It’s about knowing your pain is real

And fighting for your rights

Being so upset and frustrated

Getting no sleep so many nights !

It’s about trying to find the right doctor

Who can offer you some hope

Who knows what it’s all about

Who can give you what you need to cope !

It’s about learning to live again

With a whole new personality

Letting go of the person you once were

And facing a whole new reality !

It’s about losing friends and family

Because they think “it’s all in your head”.

But truth be known, there are days

You hurt so much, you can’t get out of bed !

It’s about setting new priorities

“So what if there is dust”

You have to take care of yourself now

And do only what you must !

It’s about holding on to hope

Each new day could bring a cure

It’s holding on to this hope

That will raise your mood for sure !

It’s about being thankful for the few

Friends and family that are true

Believing and hoping for a miracle

Praying for strength to make it through !

© 2004Kammy Salmon

The Poetry of Anne Suplee


Pain and I Are One

Pain and I are one, together always,
Pain is always here.
Pain fills my nights and my days,
Pain tries to win its war with me, year after year.
I will not let Pain wear me down,
I will continue the fight.
I will not let Pain cause me to frown.
I will continue to seek out the light.
Pain tries to turn the day to night,
Pain tries to turn happiness to sorrow.
Pain sometimes loses the fight,
Pain however, will be back again tomorrow.
I chase away Pain's storm cloud,
I choose to seek the sun.
But, Pain will always hang over me like a dark storm cloud,
For Pain and I are one.

Anne L. Suplee 05/10/04
Anne's Website


When I have a Bad Day 

When I have a bad day;
A cool wisp of a breeze,
My skin burns. 

When I have a bad day;
The soft glow of a candle,
My eyes hurt. 

When I have a bad day;
The quiet patter of spring rain,
My ears ring loudly. 

When I have a bad day;
The glorious scent of summer flowers,
My nose sneezes. 

When I have a bad day;
The soft squeeze of a friend’s hug,
My body screams.

When I have a bad day;
Kind words from a friend,
My spirit soars. 

Anne L. Suplee – May 11, 2004
Anne's Website

Single Submissions

Fibromyalgia And Me

If people lie you could only see,
What your hurtful words do to me
I'm tired of hearing "It's all in my head"
You don't have the pain, no tears do you shed
Keep reading this poem, It's re-al-I-ty
It explains FMS, and, what it does to me
I wake in the morning with pain everywhere
My body is stiff and full of despair
I am achy with, muscles so tight,
I haven't the strength to stand up and fight
There are days, I feel like staying in bed
I can't seem to think, with this fog in my head
I can't hold a baby or hug someone tight
I can't even sleep, all through the night
My body sends messages, up to my brain
Most days I feel like, I've been hit by a train
I have my days when, I am feeling down,
That's when I need my "true friends" around
There you have it, now do you see..
Just what FMS does, to people like me

Jackie Garpow
Jackies Webpage: Fibromyalgia: Living With Chronic Disease.



I seek release from a container wrought with pain
The flagrant embodiment of my ignorance; an unfortunate draw
A mis-shapen heavy burden
that won't conform to my wishes of ease, lightness and beauty.
I beg freedom for the precise and perfect being
that labors inside
and knows not itself in the mirror.

Abigail Anne Smith

How To Sail The Sea of Suffering

The Ocean of Pain is an endless sea
Upon which no human chart can guide.
I look for refuge, some Port of Relief,
A port from which to hide.

My muscles cramp, my nerves scream
As I struggle at the helm of my life.
 Waves of pain crash over my bow
As I fight this ocean of strife.

Nails in the back, the feet and hands,
There is no relief from it all.
My soul cries for help – a moment of peace,
But with each wave I ride, I fall.

Drugs are no help, medicine - no good,
The waves of pain lap over their comfort with ease.
If, then, I take more to meet the high tide,
I soon run out, there is no reprieve!
Then, I am caught in a trough – between doctor and hell,

For relief from the fire, I get none.
They don’t understand the ebb and flow
Of this agony I try to sail from.

One moment of relief is all I ask,
A moment filled with peace.
But I hear a laugh of mournful scorn,
“There is no course for relief!”

Yet, in the depths of despair, when the sky is black
And I am wrapped in this blanket of woe,
I hear a small voice that comes from deep within,
“It’s a lie, what pain says, it’s not so.”

“Look not to the pain, but look to Christ,
When you think there is no one who cares.
For He hung from Love’s Cross – took all of hell’s fire,
You’re not alone, He knows what you bear.

“He has sailed these waters, He knows the pain
He will not have you to fail.
With the Grace He offers, victory is assured
Release the helm, and He will make sail.

Jesus knows these waters – their ugly depths,
And He knows the darkness, and the grief.”
He will teach me to steer by Faith
Christ, my Captain, is my Relief.

“Step out on the waters,” Jesus says to me,
“And I will teach you how to live.
Keep your eyes on Me, and walk by faith,
And I will teach you to sail this sea.

“It is by Faith you cross this ocean
with all its misery and strife.
I give you now the Grace to live
And sail on to eternal life.”

With Christ at the helm, my course is set
This painful sea is not my final home,
By grace, I sail these troubled waters,
And I know I am never alone.

Contact Creth D Hopkins for permission to repost or print this work. 2007



To deep for tears This gnawing pain
To far away It's time of gain
If I could fly away I would
Not caring if I really should
Please tell me Lord it's not in vain
Please give me hope to ease this pain
And lift me high on eagles wings
Until each throbbing muscle sings
A song of joy that turns each pain
Into a precious treasure gained.

Copyright 1999 - Mary Lou Ockert

Just a Load of Whites 

How many times have I heard it said,
You don’t look too tired to me!
Why is it, after only a simple task
There is no strength left in you to see?

You look healthy, you seem well
What does it take to wash a load of whites?
You carry one basket, pour soap and bleach
Why does it seem such a big fight? 

A fight you say, That, hits close to the mark
Of the battle that rises before me,
For each step I take there is a ticket of pain
That must be paid – this you do not see. 

To carry a basket is no cheap feat
The price is pretty high.
The pain in the feet, the stab in the back
My soul screams for relief from on high. 

The soap is not bad if I use a scoop
But the cap on the bleach is a terror,
My fingers don’t close, the nails are sharp
And in pouring, one has to be clever. 

This is when I cry to my Lord,
His Grace is sufficient for such needs.
The job gets done – another victory won
As, once again, Jesus answers my pleas.  

So bring on the whites, the blues and the reds,
And with each load that I bear,
I can do all things through Christ, Who loves me so,
For with each load, He will always be there.

Contact Creth D Hopkins for permission to repost or print this work. 2007

Mr Fibromyalgia comes calling.

I have this awful caller who keeps popping round
His name is Mr Fibromyalgia,
I really don't like him at all

He comes to poke my eyes and blow horns in my ears
He shouts nips and grinds my bones
Pins and needles dizzy spells what else has he in store
Sometimes he even sends electric shocks
Up and down my spine

He makes me jump and twitch he also makes me cry
Sometimes in the morning I am feeling quite good
He's not come calling yet
But he'll be back ready to attack

Then I have a familiar feeling
Tingling in my hands and afternoon fatigue
Then he comes a calling dancing on my head.
He's even at my hair now pulling from the roots
Strange irritation itching on my scalp
Why is he doing this with all these strange attacks?

Mr Fibromyalgia why do you have to be so mean
You're clever and deceitful
You're never ever seen

You confuse even the wisest of people
Doctors, family and  friends
You even confuse me and you're with me most of the time

You are always hanging around
And I really don't like you at all
You're like a heavy weight wearing me down
Beating up my body and driving me insane

So Mr Fibromyalgia
Take all your troubles and disappear
you're not welcome here

Author Heather Archibald
Copyrighted  Contact Info. Lesdauphin@aol.com



as i sit here all alone
i look around at the world
i smile at the faces looking at me
but i dont know who they are
this doesnt really bother me
as i walk into a store
i look at the stuff all around me
i turn around and walk out again
because i have forgotten what i wanted
again this doesnt really bother me
as i walk into the bank
a person walks up to me and says hi
we make small talk then the person leaves
i watch them leave not knowing who they were
but they look kinda familiar
again this doesnt really bother me
as i get my breakfast
i go to grab my meds
but i stop
and i think
and i question
have i taken them this morning
i dont remember...i am still in pain...but i am always in pain...
this really bothers me

Melissa Turner   Copyright  2001



Waking every morn, Body full of pain,

What more can I take, It's driving me insane,
Stagger to the couch, Coffee in my cup.
Feeling lost and bewildered, like a motherless pup.

Lined in a row, All this medication,
Taking every little pill, With disgust and dedication.

My mind rushing by, projects and deeds to do,
Body won't respond, like it used to do

Bound to the couch, like shackles and a chain,
Why have I been chosen to suffer all this pain?

Pain and exhaustion, Just to say the least,
Where did I go, From where came this BEAST?

Days passing by, Seems I'm standing still,
Somewhere in this life, I've lost my every will.

Feeling like a failure, As Woman, Mother and Wife,
How long can I go on, In this awful life?

Every day I HOPE, And each night I PRAY
God are you listening?
Please take this PAIN AWAY!!!!!

Sherry Lawrence Copyright 2001



Red. All I can see is red.
Glaring red, with teeth.

Like crazed crocodiles with a carcass,
Pain gnaws at nerve endings,Rips at ravaged muscles.

I am their prey.
Nowhere to hide, escape impossible.

I pry at the teeth with my mind, begging them to release me.
Pitiless, they will not listen.

I bleed out the red, replace it with cooling blue,The crocodiles are momentarily confounded,
But as soon as I relax my vigilance they are back.

Green then, I think--
Cool grass, pillowy moss, springtime leaves...
The crocodiles just laugh and go on with their chewing.

What I need is a shotgun.
I could blast those suckers to smithereens!
But I am defenseless.

So they gnaw and tear
And the best I can hope for is the ability to ignore them,
A solution that is no solution at all.

                                        Janet Martin, 2/01

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