ILLNESS

Sickness affects my vision.
Reality seems out of sight.
Bacteria begs for dominion.
I lose track of wrong and right.
I suffer from fear and
delusions,
see faces I’d rather not see.
An avenue open to demons.
Can’t recall what I’ve come
to be.
A light in the mind’s
distant window.
A room among many in me.
The figure of grace
and perfection
is waiting and holding
the key.

Janet Brice Parker