They just got bloody worse
And now I’m thinking to myself
I’m under Someone’s curse
I don’t know when it happened
Or what the hell I’ve done
But to this Person I’m really sorry
And say: You’ve definitely won.
For I have been to hell and back
And really felt so sick
This curse You’ve gone and put on me
Just hasn’t missed a tick
I have been cursed with my stomach
I have really been in pain
I have taken things to make me better
But things are still the same
They say I have dysreflexia
And that it happens to people my age
But I just can’t help feeling
That I’m a victim of Someone’s rage
My bladder isn’t working now
Like it used to do
And if You’re reading this poem
Is this curse down to You?
If it is, You have to know
This makes me hot and cold
I can’t sleep or eat or drink
Now I’m feeling really old
I lie awake at night just praying
That it will go away
I didn’t think this would last so long
Hoping it would be gone in a week or a day
But here I am still suffering
A condition I don’t understand
And I know no matter what I do
It is in Your hand
So I am asking, no I’m pleading
Release me from this curse
And any damage I may have caused
I will fully reimburse
I can’t take back what I’ve done
Or what I’ve gone and said
But please now have some pity
On me lying in my bed
My hands held high up in the air
I say OK You’ve had your fun
But now it's time to end this curse
For that damage is really done
This curse that I am going through
Will last with me forever
It is a storm cloud overhead
As I roll and ride this weather
But I hope to see the sunshine
And feel its warmth once more
So lift this curse You’ve put on me
For I just can’t take it any more
This really is a heartfelt plea
So I ask You and implore
What I’ve done I am truly sorry
Anything I’ve done I so regret
For You have taught me a valuable lesson
One I won't ever forget
Ian was a promising, young English lad of 17 when he had his motorcycle accident. One glance was all it took for him on that fateful day. He turned his head to glance at his friends as they passed him on their bikes. And the next thing -- he hit a stationary truck by the roadside.
Ian today is confined to his bed -- for the rest of his life. He is 36 and has been in-and-out of hospital countless times. His life always hangs by a thin thread.
Recently his condition took a turn for the worse: his latest medical crisis is a condition called dysreflexia -- a condition when his body goes into uncontrollable spasms and the blood pressure goes dangerously high due to involuntary activity of the nervous system.
Despite haivng pain as his constant bedfellow, Ian learns to keep his mind off his suffering through writing. He writes his poems on his PC keyboard -- painfully and painstakingly -- using his mouth, striking each alphabet key-by-key.
His poems are beautifully crafted -- his literary talents obvious. The words don't come from someone practiced or trained in the art of semantics or English prose. His poems often tell of his struggles with pain, anger, sadness. Sometimes self-pity.
This is poetry straight from the heart.
It is Poetry from the Soul.
You may wish to visit his website:
http://www.geocities.com/big_red_one_67/Home_Page.html