I raged in a delusional state,
Enough
to recall and relate,
I
was in a paranoia mentality –
A
dangerously grave gravity.
Passers
by were hapless victims
Of
my unruly behavioural sins
Of
investigating my suspicions
Of
my voices’ miss-directions.
But
I always went on my way
To
sing my sorrows another way,
As
my insane misconceptions
Raised
unwanted attentions.
Off
to the ward, an imprisonment
Of
unjust, unwarranted punishment,
As
the nurses don’t have the time of day
Constantly
sending you on your way.
©
Andrew Stevenson 12/03/2017
A past piece of being unwell. I found that while in hospital, most of the nurses were too busy on their computers to have the time of day for you!
Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.
This is an excellent insight of an illness that can happen to anyone, and like the illness I have Epilepsy it is frowned on by many. Thank you Andrew and good luck for the future.
ReplyDeleteYvonne.
Thank you Yvonne, for your kind words and sentiments. We have a similar but different circumstance, and it can be frowned upon by some! Blessings to you. Good luck to you too. Love love, Andrew. Bye.
DeleteThrough your poetry you create a harrowing picture of what it is like to suffer as you did. I hope that the process of writing poetry during that time you were in the hospital helped you get through it all, Andrew.
ReplyDeleteGreetings Louise. I've always enjoyed writing, and it has been a great help to express myself with. Love love, Andrew. Bye.
Delete