Body Traitor
As baby boomers ceaselessly ponder their plights, and frenetically pursue a collective prerogative to stop or slow the inevitable, namely the physical ravages of time, they dare not utter what they know to be true. The "BODY TRAITOR" will not be placated. To do so, were it possible, might mean a loss of that which we hold more dear than life or identity, the soul. So, pay the pipers, namely plastic surgeons and cosmetic dentists, but never forget that time exacts a heavier tribute.
When teeth fall out, and hair turns white,
The body traitor tells you, something’s just not right,
He takes away, what he can’t restore,
And when you think it’s over, he asks for more.
Anything you possess, is his fair game,
And where you once walked tall, you now come up lame,
You feel betrayed, you’ve fallen through the crack,
No medical marvel, can turn the clock back.
You have money in your pocket, and you’re willing to trade,
For immortality, you’ll even go under the blade,
But you can’t retrieve, what is already gone,
And although you seek to be king, you are but a mere pawn.
You talk to the devil, perhaps a deal can be struck,
For souls are quite easily sold, when you’ve run out of luck,
But all pleas and appeals, just fall on deaf ear,
And as infirmity grows, so, too, does your fear.
You remember a time, not too long ago,
When you were the apple of eyes, and had something to show,
But all that now, has been taken away,
As you walk toward death, on limbs of clay.
You have often thought, of ending it all,
But a glance at your wife, has caused you to stall,
“What will she do, when I’m no longer here,
Who will tend to her needs, and hold her so near?”
Dilemmas, dilemmas, become a burden on mind,
So, you seek consolation, from any priest you can find,
He tells you it’s normal, all bodies decay,
And although you nod in agreement, you give anger full sway.
How could this have happened, it was such a surprise,
For all your years of learning, you weren’t really so wise,
To lose that held dearest, and not notice the change,
While your body was imprisoned, your mind was out on the range.
Solutions don’t come, you’re a ship tossed at sea,
And while you hang on to life, you pray to be set free,
But salvation won’t come, at least anytime soon,
So, you long for disease, although you know you’re immune.
There is nothing worse, on those tracks of pain,
Than to know final destination, but not hour of train,
For although all tickets are collected, either sooner or later,
You still look at the conductor, like some kind of body traitor.
Copyright 1997, Albert M. Balesh, M.D. All rights reserved.
posted by Dr. Al at
7/22/2006 10:35:00 AM
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