The New Inmate



Someone new had come
A renowned poet
Doctor Had prescribed
No pen
No paper
Nothing was
To be given her.

On my rounds
We became friends
She yearned
To talk.
When her lips
Formed words
Her fingers
In writing.

How are we today?
I smiled as I asked
Louder and refusing
To shut up are they!
Looking haggard,
Her bloodshot eyes
Had shadows dark
Under and in them.
Shadows of years
Long gone,
Of years yet to come.

What do they say?
I wish I knew!
They speak in tongues
Known to me not!
Only my fingers
Could ever with them
Keep apace
Only my pen
ever transcript them!!
Oh how I wished
And yearned
To help her!
But dared not I.

How are we today?
My smile slipped.
Face haunted
Eyes sunk
Her lips compressed
In pain,
Her look stung.
I am fine.
She smiled.
The shadows
Her eyes shone
Even I could hear
The clamor
Within her soul.

Her mouth opened
Though she tried
To clamp down
But failed.
Words tumbled
One after the other
Words without sense
Words without words
Tumbling trembling
They flew from her mouth
Wrest from her
In violence.

Was it a language?
Who knew
What the Angels spoke
But the seers?
Who could tell
Of the heavens
But prophets true
Without fear?
Her eye balls
Rolled up
Her body in spasms
Writhed and shivered
Words still burst forth
Without a stop.

Aiding an exorcism
Unknown to me,
Only wishing
To rid her of misery,
I let her have it then.
A pen.
I let her have a paper.
And exorcise herself
She did:
Writing her obituary
In her blood
She stabbed herself
With the nib instead.

2 thoughts on “The New Inmate

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