Time travel injuries are hard to treat.
Recovery is rare. The mind unwinds
as arms and legs appear and disappear.
We house the patients by their years of birth.
A roommate from their future tends to scare
new ones who need some hope of being cured.
You see, Alexa’s tongue has healed today,
and she could eat her steak from yesterday—
but now her mangled hand can’t hold a knife.
Raoul still tries to kill himself in bed
face-down on pillows till he suffocates.
He wakes face-up, on fire with pain and rage.
Our staff does not last longer than a year.
They check their phones and even X the days
off calendars like prisoners of old.
All of us come to doubt our sense of time,
and time itself is injured by our travel.
Anti-chronologists keep chasing myths
of immortality ignoring risks
of random errors that will land them here,
where life eternal is our constant fear.
Published in Space and Time Magazine
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Dear Poeter, In the prison of
Dear Poeter, In the prison of life, every human being lives as a free prisoner. The beginning and the end of a life that is not known in advance, the man lives only until the middle of the life of the rest of the breath and disappears. The story, screenplay, and verse of this life differs from person to person, with tears, smiles, nostalgia, and silence. Because, no one knows the rules written by the Lord. The fact that the journey of life on the path of life is fast-paced while we are asleep is a realization of the instability of this life. This poem really impressed me. All The Best My Dear Friend; Write More Congratulations
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