All Poetry


Cursed by thirst unquenchable
beneath a blazing sky,
Gaze distorted by burning mist
that wells within her eyes.

A soul that weeps before mankind,
for truths they’ve never seen–
of jaded hearts, of bleeding flesh,
of wounds that lie between.

An angel to the suffering,
a guardian to the soul,
a seraph who has fallen,
sunk within beguiling shoal.

Who will deliver this fragile one
whose eyes, too worn to cry?
To lift her up on mended wings
into the blazing sky?

37 replies »

  1. Phoebe, your lines here give me great hope, faith in doctors everywhere. Your tenderness and depth of emotions is amazing and reflects — I’ve said this before — the wonderful doctor you are. Wishing you a good week to do good things, DS 🙂

  2. Hopelessness – or is it helplessness………well whichever it is, I believe there is “one” for each of us who mends our aching hearts when we need it the most……and perhaps, in the end, escorts us to our destiny; scars and all.


  3. The eternal question, who can heal the healers? Who can protect the guardians? Sometimes it is a hug in the night, sometimes it is a gentle kiss on the cheek while your shoulders shake as you cry. Sometimes it is prayer that someone, somewhere can take away the pain. I wish that I could give you any and all of them to take away the pain.

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