Sickness Poems | Poemist

Popular Sickness Poems

The Sick Child

by Robert Louis Stevenson

CHILD.
O Mother, lay your hand on my brow!
O mother, mother, where am I now?
Why is the room so gaunt and great?
Why am I lying awake so late?

MOTHER.
Fear not at all: the night is still.
Nothing is here that means you ill -
Nothing but lamps the whole town through,

......

When we met

by Dave Newman

WHEN WE MET
----Flowed like the creek which babbled alongside.
WORDS
----Ricocheted like shrapnel around the nauseous confines of the skull I locked myself inside.

WHEN I FELL
----Swirled in the daze of a hued cloud like embers coughed from a campfire.
MY DREAMS

......

Her Long Illness

by Donald Hall

Daybreak until nightfall,
he sat by his wife at the hospital
while chemotherapy dripped
through the catheter into her heart.
He drank coffee and read
the Globe. He paced; he worked
on poems; he rubbed her back
and read aloud. Overcome with dread,
they wept and affirmed
their love for each other, witlessly,

......

يومان قد مرا ولم - Poem by خل

by خليل السكاكيني

يومان قد مرا ولم
يدخل طعام في فمي
لا أستطيع أن اقوم
من شديد الألم
وليس من يسأل عما
حل بي من سقم
ولم يكن بين الجميع
من يُرى مكلّمي
وهكذا ظللت
بي ن سقم وسأم

......

Faustina, or Rock Roses

by Elizabeth Bishop

Tended by Faustina
yes in a crazy house
upon a crazy bed,
frail, of chipped enamel,
blooming above her head
into four vaguely roselike
flower-formations,

the white woman whispers to
herself. The floorboards sag

......

Recent Sickness Poems

A prisoner of illness

by Aditi Hayaran

Exhausted eyes starring at ceiling
Not knowing words that can explain this feeling
A healthy state hard to maintain
Will I ever be completely normal again?

Trying to ignore my inner turmoil
Feeling under the weather for a while
Frequent trips to hospital in a life full of pain
Will I ever be completely normal again?

......

A letter to a sick child

by Dr. Robert Ippaso

There once was a little snail,
That wondered why It didn't have a proper tail,
She asked all those that passed her by
If there might be a rather simple reason why.
None proved to be that kind,
Which put her in an awful bind,
Until one fateful sunny day
She met a hare along the way.
My friend he said, looking awfully smug,
A tail Is something others often tug,

......

When we met

by Dave Newman

At the age of four

by Awwab Paracha

At the age of four, I saw perfection. I saw it in the crystal-like tears that ran like a river through my mother's soul. Reality cracked, within a shiny glass, creating reflections of my weak body. At the age of four, I was finally told, "You’ll never be perfect." But then, I realized that perfection is broken. It's fragile, it's weak, it's flawed, and it's beautiful. Tears became my rain. They became my joy. I spent days in hospital rooms while my mother's tears caressed my heart with their perfectly warm hands. Those tears fought with me, fought for me, lived for me, and died for me. At the age of 15, I saw perfection, again. I saw it in tears that broke out of the confines of hazel brown eyes and ran like a heavenly river of honey through the maple-sweet soul of a broken honeycomb. I saw perfection in a cracked looking glass. At last, another portal to the land of rainbows and diamond-white tears. Another girl, my girl. You should see the way she holds me. You should see the way she kisses me. You should see the way she loves me. You should see her. Because then, You would finally understand... that perfection is not perfect... It's more like a cracked diamond, a messy apple-pie, a fading rainbow, a giant spoonful of Nutella, a mother's tears, red petals that roses wear, the smell of freshly shampooed hair. A girl who talks to herself. A girl who talks to my heart. A girl who made me feel like I was four-years-old again. Earth's lucky charm. My baby girl. Lexi. I love you

Silence

by Man Mryt

I vh.