Wednesday, January 25, 2012

01 -2012

My Inheritance.


A wild wet wind ravages this January night
and legs sore from excema rage as a simile.
Herbal remedies bitter sweet I drink and think
to swallow down and liken as a new raw whisky.


In this battle I cannot complain of newness
and Yet there is a rant about cruel inheritance
Of genes distorted from twisted forebears,
that cause sleeping fingers to tear skin.


I weep not, nor pray for the lost long dead.
For these words are part of my cleansing,
a ridding from the liver to be emptied and
To be torn away by January's strong storm.


© MRL 25 - 01- 2012

7 comments:

  1. One can feel the pain in your words. Hope this is better soon. It is intriguing to me to look at family patterns in behaviours and illnesses. What we can learn from these! Though they are hard won teachings...

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  2. Oh, what agony you must be in! But it resulted in a wonderful write 'the liver to be emptied and to be torn away ...' fabulous ... :D

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  3. Wow I feel that! and deeply sympathize, warmth and strength your way...Debs

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  4. Hope all is well soon. I love your words.
    Margaret

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  5. 'Of genes distorted from twisted forebears'... I hadn't thought of it that way before, but how true!
    Everything we suffer physically must have it's origin in a gene.
    I do hope your herbal remedies work their magic soon x

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  6. Ah, had a friend with that, most painful - hope you heal well. Love the imagery in the poem.

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  7. Sending your warm wishes at this cold time of year.

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