Curandero Poem by Charles Monroe

Best wishes for your health regained.
It seems that we are all in pain;
Each in our own special way
Some tomorrow, some today.
I am wounded from the heart
And my hospital is Art.
Medicine pollutes my air
And a nurse who does not care
All in all, I'm grateful still;
For the love I'm blessed to spill
Or the love I've witnessed go
Left me Gently as a doe,
Now, reclined in mild merlot
Dressed in garments of defeat
In some holocaust pajamas
Just the smoke, the night, and me.
Everyone is ill some how
As a moth inside a mouth
Heed the words; a velvet pure,
Poems is the only cure.
P.X