Not the kind of inspiration I wanted

Ugh.... I've been sick since last Tuesday. Took two days off, dragged myself in for half a day on Friday, relapsed, and have been in bed since I got home. As of last night, I have a cough so bad I can't even lie flat. I hate being sick.

The only good thing about it is that, apparently, at two am when I can't sleep or speak for coughing and am sitting in my recliner drinking neo-citran, I get inspired to write poetry.



The Cold

I find while lying in the dark
Wracked by violent episode,
My thoughts do turn to hope of peace
And wish that all the world were slowed.
The fires of thought do run as strong
As raging storms and fleeting steeds,
Never stopping for a breath
But crashing on in wild stampedes.
Still I sit here shadowed by
Lack of company and rest,
Unable e’en to lie me down
And find the softest dream’s sweet breast.