A restricted life
Each inch takes energy from my arms,
from wrists to elbows, the forearms.
Each flick of the wrists backed strength,
only gets me an arms worth of length.
Each replay of my arms patterned moves,
make my knowledge and strength improve.
This new life I now must practice and live,
extra pain and agony each day does give.
Many times, I am stopped and distortedly sad,
remembering the walks and runs I’ve had,
the jumps, hops, skips and so much more.
My life changed, different then before.
A ramp installed and automatic doors,
lowered cupboards and the drawers.
Lifting devices to get into my bed,
each morning the day I dread.
Each inch takes energy to live,
this life to no one I would give.
It takes a strong determined mind,
in wheelchairs you see all kinds.
Living in their own private dismay,
living a restricted life each day.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 14th, 2024 05:45
- Comment from author about the poem: Had to change comment. I am not in a wheelchair just know lots due to my job.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
Offline)
Comments2
Not much I can say either - other than 'sorry'.
An insight into wheelchair survivors and others with inflicted disabling injuries.
No I have to say sorry. I will change my comment as i am not in a wheelchair, just know lots do to the job.
Don't worry - MPS is full of it. You are in good company, I would think. However thanks for the clarification and honesty. I'm guessing there's less of that around.... Then again, I did find your post instructive and insightful.
It all seems overwhelming. I hear the frustration and anguish in the poem, and there are feelings of it all being a bit too much nicely worded.
"too much nicely worded", maybe. Lets finish the honest response to Doggerel Dave's response. My ex went from cane, to walker, to wheelchair, to electric scooter. So I don't understand the fullness of the emotions and problems, thus being nicely worded, missing the trueness that my ex could put into this poem if she wrote it.
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