I have a very dear friend
hard to believe I know
her story asks a question
no one wants to address
she is trying to recover
following heart surgery
it is not going very well
she struggles each day
bills take all her money
weakness drains her too
unable to do very much
self-esteem taken away
wondering every morning
if today is her last day
will she have more life
ever able to live it again
television adds insult
floating across the screen
the face of Dicky appears
her tax dollars at work
She struggles for treatments
he has all the best care
she can't make appointments
he has doctors come to him
she has not shot a friend
she did not begin any wars
only supported a nation
that is turning their back
we conveniently forget
those that need our help
wounded veterans, the poor
lost children, and homeless
where are the priorities now
that hypocrisy becomes law
care only for the wealthy
providing for their greed
compassion is left behind
the charge of those who care
typically poor themselves
yet they can still find ways
shame upon the narrow
the greed filled and blind
who only seek their pleasures
missing the real point of life
I will pray for my friend
giving the hope that I can
knowing how she struggles
as I cry at the injustice of greed
It happens more often than we know.
ReplyDeleteThere are answers. It means each human must become a hero or heroine.
however, that has NEVER been true in history. We fight or we accept; we make choices. We love.
This poem represents such love.
I hope your friend a speedy recovery. I feel sad reading this poem.
ReplyDelete12:30 AM, Eighth of July, 2016: I didn't expect to make it this long. Every day I wake it is a surprise. I am still in agony, although the amount of pain medication I take daily would kill a person instantly if they were given just one third of my daily dose. The pain is still there, the sharp edges are merely ground down a bit, allowing me to function. This is opposed to me lying on a bed, curled up in a ball and screaming. I am still a captive of my house, Except it is a cheaper, smaller, rented house. I was forced to liquidate. Dick Cheney has a new heart, and I am not on the transplant list at all because they consider me a "bad risk." I am 20 years younger than Cheney, and yet they consider me a bad risk. Money can buy anything, even a new heart. I now weigh one hundred and fourteen pounds. I am 6'3," a skeleton covered by a bag of skin that used to belong to an 185 pound woman. That weight was all muscle, too,not an ounce of fat. If one figures that the bag of skin weighs around twenty pounds, then I am dangerously past the 100-pound mark. I can't last much longer. And then, I will be waiting for you. For an interval. Somewhere. Very near. Just around the corner. All is well.
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