Science, medicine, ethics

Centuries passed have proven that insight to disease

has grown in proportion like the enlarging catheter

bag of the infirmed on a good day; not always revealing

the true content until further scrutiny takes place

.

Medicines bag, constantly swelling from byproducts

that to many are considered golden miracles

are also determined just waste to a great majority

who see and feel the uselessness of the output

.

The specialist who says "What once would kill can now

be miraculously cured when instructions are followed"

often gives the impression of a snake oil salesman

peddling his latest, greatest discoveries to the masses

.

Prolonging the inevitable has become the fad of the day

compassion often secondary to attempts

of the latest procedure; there's always another way

that can be tried to save you from acceptance of the end

.

Who can determine the quality of your life, of mine;

doctors of Science, Medicine, Ethics, I think not

anyone but ourselves know if it's worth clinging on

to what little we sometimes have left, when it's time to go

.

The decision of enough being enough is undoutedly ours

but when advised by someone we trust of the vast hopes,

of the probable success, it's difficult to comprehend that

we may be just another of their laboratory rats

.

It's all a game of roulette to the man with the title,

a crap shoot, and as the betting man prefers high odds

over a low paying sure thing, one wonders if their license

should be to medicate, mediate, and play the horses

Science, medicine, ethics

A century gone has proven
that insights have grown in proportion
like the enlarging catheter bag
of the infirm on a good day
.

Constantly swelling from byproducts
that to many are considered just waste
however liquid gold to the
measurer of the output
.

What once would kill can now
be magically cured like the rump
of the swine swimming in its
pillow of crusty salt, so it's said
.

Prolonging the inevitable
has now become the way of the day
compassion often secondary
to attempts of the latest procedure
.

Who determines the quality of a life;
science, medicine, ethics or the lichen
like being that is tired of trying
to grasp onto the weather worn bark
.

The decision of enough being enough
is undoutedly yours but when told
of the vast hopes, of the possible success,
clinging to the vine looks sweeter
.

It's all a game of roulette, a crap shoot,
and as the betting man prefers odds
over surety one wonders if the license should
be to gamble, not medicate

Birds of Paradise

Birds of Paradise
.

.

Another day behind your iron drapes
ends with no vision of the moon, broken off like
an uncharted dirt road, knowing tomorrows journey will
again take you to nowhere

.

As you drift into the oblivion of darkness
again you see her standing, waving from the shoreline
in her hair, a red flower brilliant as
the sun you rarely see
.

Her hands as white as ivory, her fingers
delicate as wisps of Pampas Grass swaying in the breeze
majestically beckon you to follow her home
to where you yearn to be once more

.

Behind her, the island stretches off the coast like
a garden of paradise awaiting your return and
your backbone rigid like a starched rope
reflects your building intent
.

As off in the distance you feel the crescendo nearing
the bicycle careening down the hill like
an out of control rocket on its way
to the stars you one day may again visit

.

She's as soft as just plucked down yet screams like
the crazy bird, its song like mournful trills sound the pleasure
of the approaching feeling of wholeness
and the pain of the plucking all in one
.

Dreams behind bars are all that you still have of your own
until you awaken. She spun off like a woman
desirous of rushing to meet the maker of
her soul that very instant
.

From the bunk above you hear his monotonous voice
like every other morning that you must rise
and face the continuing existence of just one
more empty, sorrowful, drawn out part of a year
.

Who ever decided that jail in lieu of gas was less cruel
never spent a single minute in here, I'm sure
days pass like having the pleasure of an elephant sit on your chest
but oh, the nights are pure paradise

Plop

The polished

gravel orb

caused the limpid

mirrorlike

coating

to swirl

in an orbitular

flair

as it settled

to the nethermost

fathoms

of life