Time must pass in increments determined by
The pills I take, the clock's unwanted hours
Clumped in sixes for the Tramedol, in fours
For blessed Oxycodone. Gaps crop up. Time's
Not exact, as my lids drop and all goes blank
For hours, sometimes twice a day. The night's
Not set aside for rest, as day extracts no work
From me, so neither dark nor light mean much,
And time is imprecise. How odd that it's
Become this way, as distance now is well defined.
A little circle close to me is near. The rest is not
Just far; it is absurdly far away.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2018-09-27 at 18:42

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Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
Only you can write a poem on this subject and make it remarkable.

Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
Oh, I've had those days, when I've had to count sixes and fours for either aspirin or cough medicine or regular medications. You describe the situation well, from a place of knowledge. And of course, I join in the wishes for your betterment of health.

Your convalescence is quite poetic. Wishing for your good health, Larry.