You can gather from the title today is not a good day. Yesterday wasn’t great either but today, has definitely been what those of us with mild-moderate M.E call a Bad Day.
I wanted to write today. I also wanted to do some housework. I wanted to go to the library and maybe stop off somewhere for a cuppa. On a Bad Day though, most of these intentions fall into the category of unrealistic goals as I don’t have the energy to move around the house let alone walk into town.
Sometime this afternoon I gave in to this reality and sat down with a book. As in often the case, once you let go of one reality another finds its way through and I wrote. Inspired by my current research on 19th century poetry and traditional poetic structure I found myself thinking about the Bad Day and dedicating a poem to it.
I have often toyed with the idea of writing whilst experiencing a Bad Day which has to far eluded me as I have been too tired to write. Somehow today, and maybe with the help of the structure providing a crutch to my weary body and brain, something emerged.
So here is An Ode to a Bad Day
Life-force sapped, arms of lead
Pinned and logged, heaved from bed
Pushed by will, stubborn as stone
Levering limbs, cast in wrought iron.
Eyes that sting, fighting to shut
Thoughts form tears – “if only”, but
Try to shake out despair, the closing grief
Fetid demons of false belief.
So so tired! Blood is fire, molten
Blistered joints, cracked and swollen
Must move on, cut through, ignore
Pain shatters resolve, so stifle its roar.
Can’t I just sleep! Oh Please! Can I
Just lie deep, and kiss my blight
Caress its heart. Give up hope
But no, it holds strong, a tireless rope.
The fire, the pull, the cloy, the claw
The iron, the lead, the heavy and sore
My constant. Lies curled. And there it waits
For hope to fall, and suck out my days.
Fear – cripples, conspires, as doubt creeps in
Exiled in place, left to its whim
My life now what ifs and ever again
I’m dank, I am doomed, lifeless, blood drained.
Another Bad day. And worse still may come
Clasps at my throat, scratched and worn
Each one, a reminder, the fiercest of claims
Each scar, a note – Always. Life comes back again.
Another Good day. It’s always the dream
Limbs to join the dance, eyes that find the gleam.
Face to the sky, to see the brightest light
I breathe. I love. I live. And I’m here for the fight.