Beneath the yoke of shimmering tension,
Swim in placid waters of hopefulness.
Only now understand reality
Of incipient creeping glaucoma.
Long term daily surf must be curtailed,
Projects need to be worked to a finish
Whilst light shines bright and ideas stay lucid.
Today, sat in hospital waiting room,
Alone, hear nurses share thoughts of closure,
Wards and wings shut for unknown period,
They complain about chaotic actions,
Management come under their scrutiny,
It’s all so matter of fact, so expected.
I’m lost in reflection of where this leads.
Long term it is scary, I need to read.
Thoughts of eyesight failure flood my mind.
I have half a dozen things to finish,
Plus a myriad of pieces to start.
Young African docter puts my head straight.
Take eye drops for three months, reduce pressure,
Come back for review, we’ll assess options.
This diagnosis concentrates my mind,
Mortality floods into consciousness.
I have choices to make, pages to fill,
My ability to trip through the past
Is very fragile, and time limited.
This moment, a point to turn on, erupts.
Tonight deliberate, sleep earlier,
In the morning, action, I have the tools,
There’s no time to lose, I have marks to make,
Change has come, and I must move along.

Harry Rogers, in the Red Bedroom, 21st December 2020.


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