Sickness
THE toughest carcass in the town
Fell sick at last and took to bed,
And on that bed God waited him
With cool, cool hands for his frantic head,
And while the fever did its dance
They talked, and a good thing was said:
'See, I am not that Scriptural!
A lesser, kinder God instead.'
Fever must run its course, and God
Could not do much for the countryman.
At least he saved him certain dreams:
'I die! O save me if you can,
I am a bruised, a beaten slave,
I march in a blistering caravan,
They dash a stone upon my head--
Ah no, but that is God's white hand.'
God plucked him back, and plucked him back,
And did his best to smoothe the pain.
The sick man said it was good to know
That God was true, if prayer was vain.
'O God, I weary of this night,
When will you bring the dawn again?'
The night must run its course, but God
Was weary too with watching-strain.
A cluck of tuneless silly birds,
A guilty gray, and it was dawn.
The sick man thumped across the floor
And slid the curtain that was drawn:
'O pale wet dawn! O let it shine
Lustrous and gold on the good green lawn!
The lustre, Lord!' Alas, God knows
When sad conclusions are foregone.
The sick man leant upon his Lord,
On that imperfect break of day,
'Now, Lord, I die: is there no word,
No countervail that God can say?'
No word. But tight upon his arm,
Was God, and drew not once away
Until his punctual destiny.
To whom could God repair to pray?
Now God be thanked by dying men
Who comrades them in times like these,
Who dreads to see the doom come down
On these black midnight canopies
And on this poisonous glare of dawns.
The whole world crumples in disease,
But God is pitying to the end,
And gives an office to my knees.
poem by John Crowe Ransom
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Related quotes
Sick all
Sick for all...
All are sick...
Today...
Morden world...
Sick is not disease
Sick is little of
Back pain...
Little of leg pain...
Little of sneezy...
Little of head ache...
Little of tired....
All are sick...
Sick for all...above
With a badley life style...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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I Am Sick....
I am sick …. The pain I feel.
I am sick…. This must be surreal.
I am sick…. I will not die.
I am sick…. But I must live on with this lie.
I am sick…. It’s not like cancer it’s not that bad.
I am sick… but the say depression goes with this pain I have.
I am sick…. It will never disappear.
I am sick…. My days will go on with the same o’l tear.
I am sick…. That I have thought of taking my pain away.
I am sick…. For that I cannot for the pain must stay.
I am sick… and no one can fix me.
I am sick…. That no one can see.
I am sick…. They believe nothing is wrong with me.
I am sick…. Because of this disease.
I am sick…. Because I beg god please.
poem by Winifred Harkness
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Sick I Am...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick...please don`t tell anyone...
i am sick...please forgive me if i hurt you...
i am sick...going so faraway from here...
i am sick...saying this only for you...
i am sick...maybe will never come back...
i am sick...remember me and never forget me...
i am sick...pray for me and wish me all best what you can...
i am sick...all wounds i have inside my heart...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick... and you will never see me..
poem by Hazem Al Jaber
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Sick of Being Sick
I’m sick of being rejected;
I’m sick of being emotionally neglected;
I’m sick of crying so many tears;
I’m sick of running away from my fears;
I’m sick of my childhood nightmares;
I’m sick of being told to do those stupid dares;
I’m sick of not having friends;
I’m sick of all these dead ends;
I’m sick of myself for what I’ve become;
I’m sick of feeling oh so numb;
I’m sick of watching myself drown;
I’m sick of my heart falling to the ground;
I’m sick of this life;
I’m sick of this everyday strife;
I’m sick of not having a dad;
I’m sick of getting mad;
I’m sick of my childhood past;
I’m sick of being harassed;
I’m sick of the dread;
I’m sick of wanting to be dead;
I’m sick of being the one who’s always so strong;
I’m sick of being somebody that doesn’t belong! !
poem by Shelby Brockway
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Over The Top
I told you: There is such a thing as too much of a good thing
Over the top, to the nines, overdrive.
It could have been so good
Yet, you blew it.
Instead of me wanting more:
I got sick of it
Sick of you
Sick that you are low class
Sick that you are stupid
Sick that you are a loser.
And before I get sick of me too:
Get out of my sight.
*Circa 2008*
poem by June FeirCruz
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Tiny Feelings 05
Tiny Feelings 05
(Dedicated to Poet Priyanka Bhowmick)
Sick moon upon head
Pale senior lady
Alone blue bed
Body- sick
Mind- sick
Society- sick
Tube-light
Depends on switch
Bliss less life
Tiny ant
March towards infinity
Silent event
Rolling black marble
Dark night crawling
Dynamic sorrow
Cheap or expensive- vital
Win-win economy
Profit loves exploitation
Cool senior night
Melody of silence
Unkind babyhood
poem by Ashraful Musaddeq
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Im sick
im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?
poem by Malorie Genoff
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So Sick
im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?
poem by Ricky Baker
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Sick of You
I am sick.....I am sick of you......I am sick of this life.....lived it long and good.....but now I am sick of you and the life I lead.....sick and weak.....this life I led.....but not any more......it shall end.....this sickness shall end.....I am sick of you yelling and what you say.....I am sick of this life and all I have done.....if I could go back I might....I remember walking out the front door and saying 'I love you'.......but that was then and this is now.....I have lived it long and good......but I am sick of it......staying awake and wondering 'what did I do'? ......I AM SICK OF YOU AND THIS LIFE I LED.....
poem by Dallas Stevens
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Adieu, Farewell Earth's Bliss
1 Adieu, farewell earth's bliss,
2 This world uncertain is;
3 Fond are life's lustful joys,
4 Death proves them all but toys,
5 None from his darts can fly:
6 I am sick, I must die.
7 Lord, have mercy on us!
8 Rich men, trust not in wealth,
9 Gold cannot buy you health;
10 Physic himself must fade;
11 All things to end are made;
12 The plague full swift goes by:
13 I am sick, I must die.
14 Lord, have mercy on us!
15 Beauty is but a flower
16 Which wrinkles will devour;
17 Brightness falls from the air,
18 Queens have died young and fair,
19 Dust hath clos'd Helen's eye:
20 I am sick, I must die.
21 Lord, have mercy on us!
22 Strength stoops unto the grave,
23 Worms feed on Hector brave,
24 Swords may not fight with fate,
25 Earth still holds ope her gate;
26 Come, come, the bells do cry.
27 I am sick, I must die.
28 Lord, have mercy on us!
29 Wit with his wantonness
30 Tasteth death's bitterness:
31 Hell's executioner
32 Hath no ears for to hear
33 What vain art can reply:
34 I am sick, I must die.
35 Lord, have mercy on us!
36 Haste, therefore, each degree
37 To welcome destiny:
38 Heaven is our heritage,
39 Earth but a player's stage:
40 Mount we unto the sky.
41 I am sick, I must die.
42 Lord, have mercy on us!
poem by Thomas Nashe
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So Sick
I'm so sick of the worthlessness,
Your brutal attacks.
The people bent over,
To be whipped on their backs.
So sick of the falsehood,
The folklore, the lies.
The cries of a mother,
Who's only son dies.
So sick of the emptiness,
At the end of the world.
Hurt from the bruises,
From being 'your girl.'
Sick of 'I miss you's'
So glad that you're gone.
Yet still blinded by tears,
That drown out the dawn.
So sick of your cheating,
You replaced me too quick.
But what this comes down to,
Is Baby, Your Sick!
poem by Em Jay Christian
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A Litany in Time of Plague
Adieu, farewell, earth's bliss;
This world uncertain is;
Fond are life's lustful joys;
Death proves them all but toys;
None from his darts can fly;
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Rich men, trust not in wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health;
Physic himself must fade.
All things to end are made,
The plague full swift goes by;
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Beauty is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour;
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath closed Helen's eye.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Strength stoops unto the grave,
Worms feed on Hector brave;
Swords may not fight with fate,
Earth still holds open her gate.
"Come, come!" the bells do cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Wit with his wantonness
Tasteth death's bitterness;
Hell's executioner
Hath no ears for to hear
What vain art can reply.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Haste, therefore, each degree,
To welcome destiny;
Heaven is our heritage,
Earth but a player's stage;
Mount we unto the sky.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
poem by Thomas Nashe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A January Fear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
My class is all here
Down to each little sneer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Those cute little creatures
Have nothing to fear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Still knowing that teacher's
not entirely all here
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Each little tear
Makes it perfectly clear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
A day off is coming
And hopefully near
a sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
It's harder and harder
Maintaining my leer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Perhaps my behavior's
becoming quite queer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Perhaps in the morning
I'll call in and cheer
A SICK DAY A SICK DAY
I GOT A PAIN IN MY EAR
Alas...I can hear my principle sneer
With a resigning smirk easy to hear
NO SICK DAY NO SICK DAY
SORRY MY DEAR
NO SICK DAYS NO SICK DAYS
REMAINING THIS YEAR
poem by Robert John Meehan
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Sicckk
sick of it..
im so sick of it
im sick of waking up in the morning.
im sick of you saying im nothing,
im sick of you calling me down.
im sick of you drinking all the time. |
im sick of you blaming everything on meh.
im sick of you
im sick of this
im sick of everything..
but must of all your the one im sick of..
i relise your the reson for my pain...
sorry mom..
its time for me to goo..
poem by Cheylayna Bear
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In Time of Pestilence
ADIEU, farewell earth's bliss!
This world uncertain is:
Fond are life's lustful joys,
Death proves them all but toys.
None from his darts can fly;
I am sick, I must die--
Lord, have mercy on us!
Rich men, trust not in wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health;
Physic himself must fade;
All things to end are made;
The plague full swift goes by;
I am sick, I must die--
Lord, have mercy on us!
Beauty is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour;
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath closed Helen's eye;
I am sick, I must die--
Lord, have mercy on us!
Strength stoops unto the grave,
Worms feed on Hector brave;
Swords may not fight with fate;
Earth still holds ope her gate;
Come, come! the bells do cry;
I am sick, I must die--
Lord, have mercy on us!
Wit with his wantonness
Tasteth death's bitterness;
Hell's executioner
Hath no ears for to hear
What vain art can reply;
I am sick, I must die--
Lord, have mercy on us!
Haste therefore each degree
To welcome destiny;
Heaven is our heritage,
Earth but a player's stage.
Mount we unto the sky;
I am sick, I must die--
Lord, have mercy on us!
poem by Thomas Nashe
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Sick of…
Sick of the world
Sick of people acting like my friend
Sick of people talking behind my back
Sick of people playing games
Sick of people using me
Sick of worrying
Sick of fighting
Sick of being here
Sick of everything
poem by Tiffany Johnson
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The Guardian Angels
A Ballad
Father John in the green lane went
And he drew his robe full tight,
'I would,' quoth he, 'I were home again
For there's evil in the night.
'I would,' quoth he, 'the gold I bear
Were safe with the poor and old,
For strange the fear that follows me
That my eyes cannot behold.'
He looked him left and there he saw
A white rose climb and cling,
He looked him right and in the brake
A wild bird shook his wing.
He looked him back and far there stood
The old church tall and dim,
Yet on the lonely path there came
A terror strange to him.
Without the shadow of the trees
That bent above his way,
Where lost the moon her silver light,
He stood at last at bay.
And on his gown, from his pale brow
Fell great tears of his fright;
His shaking hands held close the gold
Wrapped in its cloth so white.
He knelt him down upon his knee
And prayed the Lord to hear,
'Christ, loosen Thou these laggard feet
That hold me slow in fear.
'Oh, strengthen Thou this childish heart
That trembles all afraid,
In pity for the calling sick
Who die without my aid.
'And let me bring all safely through
The shadows of the night,
The gold I bear for old and poor,
Still Thou this strange affright.'
And as he prayed from off his heart
Fear's clutching fingers fell,
A holy joy grew in his heart
He knew that all was well.
He turned him left and stayed to take
A white rose from her tree,
He turned him right and lilted low
A wild bird melody.
He looked him back and smiling saw
The tall church guarding him,
And then all fearless laughing sped
Through shadows strange and dim.
When but a year had passed away
There came before his gate,
A dying man who 'Succour,' cried
'Before it be too late.'
'Oh, shrive me, Father, ere I die,'
The moaning stranger said;
He took him to his own hearth side
And laid him on his bed.
'Oh, Father! Father! hear me now
And let me rest in peace.'
'Now speak, my son, and tell your sin
To give your soul release.'
'It was one night a year ago—
Sweet Mary, ease my pain—
I followed far your toiling feet
Within a lonely lane.
'The red gold for the old and poor
You had beneath your gown,
I hid within a darksome place
Where I could strike you down.'
Now Father John he smiled and leant
In pity by the bed,
'I did disarm you by my prayer,
I thank the Lord,' he said.
'I went in fear upon my path
I knew some danger lay,
And lone I knelt upon the road
A little while to pray.'
The dying man he raised his head
And laughed both long and loud,
'Oh, ne'er a prayer would hold my hand
Or keep you from your shroud.
'But by you went two mighty men
To guard you either side,
Else had my dagger reached your heart
And surely you had died.'
Then Father John upon his knees
Bent low his holy head,
'God's angels walked beside me there
Lest you my blood should shed
My guardian angels walked by me,
I thank Thee, Lord,' he said.
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
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OH! I can't SAY that....(a revision)
I'm sick of f\%king Facebook,
sick of emails,
sick of people talking,
sick of my work radio beeping,
I'm sick of words.
I am being cluttered to death by words....
I am sick of listening to crazies on the bus,
sick of television spewing out banality.
Sick of voices, sick of billboards, sick of typing.
I am word sick.
I am sick of people
The more they let me know them the less I care.
I don't care what your baby did.
don't give a f$ck about what you ate for dinner.
I don't even f*ckin care if your grandpa died.
Sick, sick, sick, I am making myself sick
just writing this sh#t down.
Nothing anyone has to say is of any importance at all
that includes me.
I am drowning in words, and voices, and mundane ideas.
I am sick of people trying to 'set the world on fire'
But I do wish them luck....
because some men just want to see the world burn.
I'm sick of f&cking texts and even more sick of phone calls.
I am sick of adverts on the telly.
I am fed up with peoples life stories.
I don't care what you have been through,
as long as you will let me sleep with you.
And I will only sleep with you
if you promise to wear a ball gag.
poem by Brevet Wilson
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Sick
I am sick,
Sick of this pain,
Wishing my life will fade away,
Away to the nothingness I have become,
Always in and out of trouble,
Knowing how this hurts my dad,
Knowing that he is in pain,
Watching him cry,
It hurts me,
Watching him suffer,
Makes mee want to say how sorry I am,
I am sorry for all the things I have done to you,
I know my sorry's aren't good enough,
Yet I am willing to make it up to you,
I am sick,
Sick of this life,
Knowing how hard this must be to see my dad in pain,
How I wich I can take it all back.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
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Silent Alarm
its funny...my dreams
they're never what they seem.
they're never as serene
or come close to in between
what i want or what i need
someone's always there
a silouhette in the air
but i never know who
i could never catch her face
though i always feel her grace
changing the mood of the place
in my head and in my heart
she feels good in my arms
protecting me from harm
she's the perfect, silent alarm
i've been alive for...
no matter who i'm with
no matter how well the puzzle piece fits
i eventually come out sick...
sick of fear sick of loathing
sick of silence sick of roaming
sick of trying sick of guessing
sick of messing.....up....
all i can do is look up
these visions are never clear
like a thunderstorm i fear
that this ringing in my ear
will justify the myths...
that out there somewhere
she's thinking of me too
though we all know the truth
that im a washed up, worn down,
reclused ruse
poem by Adrian Carrillo
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