Palpate the grammar of that sentence, please
The arrangement of pronouns and powers
The sorting out of a world with disease
The syntax and semantics of last hours
What an appeal to ancient, foolish tropes
Quaint myths and desiccated shibboleths
The “I” is the nurse, full of skills and hopes
The “He,” the patient, with the worst of deaths
For if she falls, another will rise up
Masks and uniforms will aid the process
Which hand delivers the pure, saving cup
Is nothing compared to His ills’ redress
We need myths: we are culture’s frail creatures
Lost without a plot and clear roles to play
But we can rewrite egregious features
Producing a story that suits our own day
Gender is not a metric of value
Plagues call for our stories’ careful review
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Keep reading
More stories from D. J. Reddall and writers in Poets and other communities.
Paralysis
She was there. Like she always had been, as if she were created immediately following the big bang. Waiting for him. Her long brown hair twisted and danced wildly in the lack of gravity. She was hauntingly beautiful, but her face was a look of terror and desperation. She mouthed wordless shouts, Ron only could assume she was yelling by the way the veins bulged in her neck.
By Jordan Flynn7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Your writing is excellent. I must say, I was thoroughly impressed.
Well written poem. Excellent work.
Oooo, I learnt a new word today. Shibboleths! Your poem was fantastic!