Category: Poetry Festival

My head is full of fantasies,
They’re my escape from reality,
In my world there’s so much I can do,
Like run and laugh and skip and play,
Converse with people day by day,
But sadly all these things will not come true,
For my body doesn’t work so well,
My existence is like a living hell,
I cannot turn my head to see the time,
My legs don’t work, my arms don’t raise,
Medication keeps the pain at bay,
And I cannot talk but my hearing is just fine.

I’m not looking for your sympathy,
No, there’s nothing you can do for me,
Except feed and wash and care for me each day,
I never used to be like this,
My life was once so full of bliss,
Then a reckless fool took my world away,
Now I lay here in this little bed,
With thoughts of life flowing through my head.
And the constant bleep of monitors and machines,
As human voices come to me,
From far away in time and space,
Or maybe they’re just the echos from my dreams.

One day I know that I’ll be free,
Released from all this agony,
And the only thing that I can do is wait,
So I’ll watch the ceiling, see the shapes,
As the day moves on in its own slow pace,
And the nighttime seems to move even slower still,
But where there’s life I guess there’s hope,
And where there’s fire there must be smoke,
So the flames within my mind I’ll need to keep,
I’ll lay in hope of a miracle,
A forlorn wish?
Perhaps,
Who knows,
But I’ll fight until I drift into endless sleep.

Andrew Smith