Enslaved To Disease

A poem

Photo by Osman Rana on Unsplash

Scent of larkspur greets me
as I head windward, 
enslaved in my body
vermilion blossoms delight me, a mariner
on this stormy sea of pain

I am incandescent that I lived when death came
I execrate my fiendish body
on which hare brained surgery was performed
I miss my Dad’s fingers in the tendril of my hair
he is in the lattice of my thoughts

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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