Needles.A Poem by Thomas Fitzgerald
A look at the treatments we put our bodies through!
Slack little scars tell tales ought not to be told,
Eyes slit to the need of seeing men through the cold,
Fragile minds kept ignorant of present exclusion,
My stomach leaves pangs of several repulsions.
With a needle sharp with speed yet steady,
Takes time for blood to gather and ready,
Bleak moments of gowns hooked up to spire,
Wrinkled women have lost the will for desire.
Natural thoughts are stranded on shores of malice,
Every looking for the mythical and sparkling chalice,
A cup of twenty the cards are every true and fair,
Feeble minds stare blank and hopeless with care.
Take heed of pure gibberish written perfectly in books,
Never knowing why they stand tall with faint looks,
Break bones if needs be and they will with decree,
Make note my dear sweet friends, you’ll never be free.
© 2012 Thomas Fitzgerald
Wexford, Leinster, Ireland
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