Ill – (Poem)

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Headache clarity

Ah this strain…

Remember my mortality

In each shooting pain

Despite all of my measures
Surfeit of food and strength of limb

I can’t hold on to earthly treasures

Febrile is the feeling of the burning skin
This twelve stone frame

Never felt so thin

Though I’m not dying and not lame

There is much education in this

Expectations are for fools
Now I know I’ll never miss
For I’ve released anticipations odd and sterile rules

To find the clarity of pain
Bearer of a wisdom most profound
Of which it’s impossible to speak of plain

For it’s in the ground

Soil from which we sprang
And at times heard little peals of bells
Yes when they rang
Recalled the measure of our wells

So it is that clarity
Has made me see
That till death art is daily
There is no greater free

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