Glass Man


Robert Starkey



Glass Man


An elderly man once full of beguile

Lie in bed round doctors with psychosis

Too tired to act hostile nether while

I fathomed stories rather prognosis

As he looked at me with a senile smile

He said, “Never shame your diagnosis”

I could smell bitter sweet in something ill

How this gentleman spaced in worlds so still


He’d tell me of third generation meds

Tales of how hospital staff would treat him

Cried of strapping his arms and legs to beds

The truth that he himself knew he was grim

Complains that doctors would mess with their heads

All and all to family sounded whim

Stories of long ago, clinics deranged

I wonder what of this century’s changed


I know what some social folks won’t accept

Although he may not, he looks as if so

If not for the many years of inept

Folks would want to know what he’ll always know

Some claim to care and even intercept

Maybe I’m the proof that needs not to show

As I opened my eyes and time unfurled

I came to fear the beauty in the world


Pristine or profane resides in the glass?

I do not recall a sip nor a pour

Seems pointless to calculate dense or mass

It’s just something nothing less nothing more

One day, some day this man will some time pass

I’ll tell him he became the glass before…

An elderly man with stories to tell

And a story for him beneath his shell

  • Author: Rob (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: April 23rd, 2013 12:44
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 41
  • User favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy.
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  • Cheeky Missy

    Densely laden with excellent imagery and very thought-provoking, more haunting perhaps seeing, curiously enough, I just wrote a sonnet this evening in tribute to earlier nasty hospital experiences. If I may be so bold, the stilted fashion and rather inverted phrasing lacing this lent my lower rating since I was instructed to avoid such manners and write in as straightforward a fashion as possible, and as is only sensible. While I realize that may have been due to the end-rhyming, yet it devalues the intensity of the poem since it makes it poorer than it might be, a near masterpiece too rough still, seems to me. Hope it goes well nonetheless when it is exhibited. Thanks for sharing. Puir feller, my heart goes out to him. Lovely.


  • diamonddagger

    great tale of how they treated psychosis in the past and I loved the title. I could picture everything in the poem so you know your imagery is A1. Take care and be proud of your writing. It's fantastic. diamond

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