Ghost Of Surgeries Past Poem by david lessard

Through a daze of fog and wonder,
I awake from way 'down under, '
And in my drugged, narcotic state,
Muse and marvel at life's fate.

Eyes that never can stay open,
Provide to me, just some, small token,
Of a world half-real, half-dream,
Is what I see, just as it seems?

In the web of hurt and pain,
Am I mad or am I sane?
I lie immobile, in my bed,
In an ethereal world of dread.

Slowly, realism, grips my hand,
And forces me to take a stand,
The pain recedes, but does not go,
The healing opens its own show.

The surgery is over, now gone past,
And my recuperation's coming fast,
And soon the hurt and pain will fade,
Thoughts growing dim, of images played.