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The Comatose
March 17, 2015
A porcaline doll
of petrified glass limbs
Haunting those passersby through memories
like a ghost; but within.
And stuck in between time,
and death
is the slave of sleep
Only kept alive by those memories.
Perhaps an angel who's lost their way
or the skipping child not following rainbows,
but chasing hurricanes.
The Weatherman's predictions
a mere gamble to come true
of this mercurial affliction:
an image already painted blue
© Rosie A., Lexington, MA
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Like the title states, this poem is about someone in a coma. If you've ever witnessed someone in a coma, they resemble fragile dolls that haunt their loved ones because their loved ones have no idea when they will wake up or what's going on. That's the beauty and mystery of this poem, in my opinion. No one knows what happens to people when they are in a coma, or if they will ever wake up.