Chronic Pain

A maze with one too

many walls, all ways lead

to pain.

descending as a screeching banshee

shrieks a Babel to decipher,

turns sleep out of bed,

shreds it into furtive naps

in sunlight. Darkness tended

with a heavy head

slowly unraveling

illusion into raw life and

the learning to bear.

Muscles tense

reach crescendo.

Life force limps, gets old.

Comfort gone. Here

is no resting place,

But an unexpected invitation

to walk outside,

head towards generosity

relax into absolution,

inessentials knife-cut,

see the nod from the goddess

saying “you are strong enough.”

Carol Casey

Carol Casey lives in Blyth, Ontario, Canada. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and has appeared in The Prairie Journal, Sublunary Review, Cacti Fur, Plum Tree Tavern and others, including a number of anthologies, most recently, Tending the Fire and i am what becomes of broken branch.