On Automatic Pilot

by | Nov 25, 2003 | Poetically Correct


This poem was also written while sitting at the clinic waiting for nearly an hour for my appointment when I wrote this poem:

On Automatic Pilot

I got duressed this morning
Nothing seemed to match
Why was I merely thinking
I had a plane to catch?
Stop the world from turning
It always makes me late
Leaving has me in a rush
This moment cannot wait
They say breathe slower–
Count to ten
I close my eyes to night
Where is my pen and paper?
These memories I can’t write
So much is going wrong
I came to tell you this
Plus your shirt is inside-out
That appointment you will miss
Like I just did the doctor
On call so far from here
Thou shalt do no harm
It’s been done so have no fear
For what tomorrow brings us
In patience with dead crowds
Resurrect my broken body
Let me scan the clouds
For all things being equal
Such euphemisms odd
When all they ever preach
Is for likeness of their God
Of whom you can-not see
Because of your tainted soul
Thinking it will fly again
Without losing all control.

Ciera S. Louise
c. Nov. 25, 2003