Intensive Care Unit
By David Smith Approx July 24, 2018
Intensive Care Unit, so sad and alone
Four strong walls that surround you
As imagination does roam
The walls are so thick
The barriers are up
Confined to bed, the fears that erupt
Thoughts to control or they control me
It’s the imagination
The optimism to see
Twenty-four hours confined to bed
Day and night, the concept is dead
Activities are vital to separate day and night
That hallow loneliness gives discouragement and strife
To see the walls and what imagination play
To only separate night from day
The doctors and nurses and health care at its best
Brings encouragement to patients to minimise stress
It’s the passion with that furnace of hope
A desire to live, to adapt and cope
The passion within is so profound
That stinking thinking, to turn it around
Why we are here and struggles of life
To live each day with power and might
Bedridden twenty four hours a day
Digesting thoughts is power, by the way
The Parking Poet 