Sinking into the chair
she finds herself alone.
Health cannot be defined by illness.
Or love by hatred.
Flaccid by fatigue
she closes her eyes to see ...
In a field of weed she was out of place.
Suffocated. Died into dust.
Seed buried deep in dark dungeons.
Covered by weed ... knotted and harsh.
The climate changed into cold.
Suffering snow-white in ice,
amongst wilted weed.
Then darkness lifted.
Solar embrace of the place
where the seed hibernated.
Rivers formed, washing away dead weed.
Very soon, the field sang fragrance:
the song of the Rose.
The door swings open.
She rubs tired eyes.
The disabled patient before her smiles:
Good morning, Doctor ...
How are you?
Author notes
The waiting room also effects the doctor ... and death the living ... A parable of hope.
In a list
A contest entry
- Contemplations: The Waiting Room by Cat.
1300 points, ended November 9, 2007, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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i have seen the human side of doctors so many times, i remind my friends who are doctors, 'you are only practicing ' and we kid about the theory that on certain nights doctors gather together in secret and actually “do” it and then return to life and their ‘practice’ Having fought cancer early in life, demystified the profession for me. I could see them struggle for answers when there were none, watch them react when I touched them kindly. I have always loved reminding them that they, too, are human and need love and the tender hand just like everyone else. The veneer of professionalism slides away for just long enough to touch the soul –
blessings and best wishes,
~r.
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this is very good Myra.... you captured that silent moment of nervous talk and the anticipations...
well done and good luck too... many thanks for entering this contest
G.x -
you wouldnt by any chance be an md yourself would you?- i like that you stepped outside the box to find a different take on the contest theme.. this was well thought out and i'm honored you chose to post this here
m -
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I am a doctor of a kind ...
a meta-therapist
Healing souls.
I know the medical profession well; have many friends who are MD's and also family members ... BUT: I know them well, for our family were plagued with illness ... Many a time I saw the sheer exhaustion in the eyes of the one supposed to heal. Some patients see the doctor as a semi-god; they cling to his every word and move. He becomes the ultimate symbol of LIFE. Only THIS aspect alone is a great emotional drain. I saw doctors cry; I heard doctors swear; I experienced doctors intoxicated; I worked with doctors addicted ... I saw doctors in despair -- praying to the Great Healer.
They are merely human beings, often fighting for a day added, a week, a year ... And very often not treated with the respect they deserve.
The late father of my children, a sociologist lecturing at a University, said that his nursing students were the MOST dedicated, and the most tireless. He had a great regard for them.
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Excellent!! Wonderfully crafted!!
Brava!! This ribbon of thoughts beautifully orchestrated makes the reader a part of the scenes as you so skillfully depict
The ending has a wonderful catch... "Good morning Doctor... how are you"? the patient is obviously one with patience & extreme courtsey presented with charm & consideration Let's hope the Dr. appreciates his patient and her patience
Wishing you much success in all of your endeavors
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The ambiguity of persons is thought provoking: we sometimes are healthier than our doctors. Good luck!
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