Some words are too heavy to write.
Their weight bears too much pain
To stay alive on the page,
nor offer any light.
Thus, the poet keeps them
out of sight.
To ink such words upon a page
might fill a fragile world
with hopeless and destructive rage.
Such is the darkened fate
of the chronically ill forced to hide,
all energy drained and waiting
for life to open wide,
and poetry find its way again
in a new and open light.
Filed under POETRY
Rockslide,Louise Annarino,1-26-2013
Another day started late
beyond the time to contemplate
justification for the time spent
writing a poem
few will read.
Nerves on edge
of a precipice built
with loose gravel,
not a sturdy life,
but shortened breaths
encased in gossamer
wings no longer
able to fly.
And, again
I ask “why?”
Why energy fled
before the keep was taken,before
the soul was shaken
like a tambourine’s
tinny sound,
uneven like my steps
placed in fear
of falling down
on my own,
or in the rockslide
my life is built upon.
Filed under POETRY
Chronic Fatigue Syndrome,Louise Annarino,1-14-2013
Stolen nights
give way to
give-away days
where nothing goes right
and no one
can be good
or enough
for me.
The air seems too thin
to inflate
the ego of distaste
for a body too frail
to tolerate
a push
of caffeine.
One bag of tea
and one old bag
of me
are not a good mix
and nix any dreams
of normalcy.
To be free
to sleep
to dream
to rise with the dawn
and the stamina
to go on
and make a day
so strong
illness cannot make
me give it away
for nothing.
Is that too much to ask?
Filed under POETRY
annarino writes 