part one

A perfect knowledge is
imperfected by your questioning.
With mere words, mere lines of thought, you’ve
hewn a gaping wound; Chasm that will harden
year to year, a cicatrix we
will not, cannot stumble on,
Our canes tap ever at the smoothness
between the rippled scales, rough-wrought monuments
to unknown time – An unpeculiar surface, in our
planar world.

part two

I saw once what I cannot see now,
waylaid by faithlessness.
Only a solarbright reversal of what has been
lingers among the shifting motes and beams,
to press me with its simmer-fading urgency.
Just beyond those holy burning borders
swim answers– in a sea too bright for eyes
so injured by the abrasive nature,
the malignant edges,
of questions ever supplicant.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

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7:52 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

i really like it - and it's good to have a fellow poet(ess) in the medical blogging world to trade poems with - the cicatrix and tapping imagery are my favorite parts.

7:54 PM  
Blogger Internal Medicine Doctor said...

I wish I could join in all this poetry. but really, after my one attempt, would you really want me to?

7:35 AM  

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