CVD19.8

The last day of March begins

With the sun cornered between

Clouds and St James' Hospital

And me sat in the same space

Wondering when this will finish?

The voices in my head are reaching

Outward, from where they'd been

Relegated to an occasional threat,

To become emboldened by others

Who always judge on partial evidence.

Give me back my feet, and my

Way, otherwise I will cave in

And mutate again becoming lesser

When all I seek is magnitude!

Yet isn't it still my choice to walk?

Bored of switching on the radio

With it's list from panic measures,

And hearsay, dropping "mights"

Into the doomsaying with this

Negative wassailing upward creep!

Crawling back into the kitchen,

Stirring, sideways, this familiar vessel,

A subcontinential spicy ration,

Breaking my fast, prior to

One form of exercise without prejudice.

Cruelly formulated in this cell,

By those without a free instinct;

Charmless, bland or banal.

Gruel they serve up in bitter measures

Isn't so sweet being jurist rigged.