The Missing Month (Poetry)

Stolen. First in raging fever
that stripped all thought away
made sense impossible
no logic governed any night
or named unconscious day

Time drifted. Hours frayed
long dizzy ropes of pain
the body’s ship holed on the rocks
and sinking — little fight
the pirates swarmed too many

Fog. Such a denseness fooled the morning clock
far-off voices merely gabble — so few words
penetrated — crossed the damp divide
the world went on regardless
nursing its own terrors

Victim of some covert warfare
attacked at random
the enemy too vague to comprehend
flesh awaited rescue
the brain doubting any help’s forthcoming

Robbed of strength limbs wobbled and denied
their weight had grown too heavy for the task
sheer will could not locate and flick
the usual power switch
the supply since disconnected

At length focus found the calendar —
a whole page taken — torn from life
and no thief likely to be apprehended
this stolen month can never be retrieved
the loss remains the damage done unmended