I wrote this poem several years ago, not long after first becoming bedridden with ME/CFS.
WAITING FROM WITHIN
I lie each day beneath the thick covers of my bed, my body slowly descending downward far beyond the realms of exhaustion and sickness, as though I am perpetually dying.
And yet, the very center of my being, the essence of who I am, remains deeply alive; familiar, constant and unyielding. It exists of a strength and vitality entirely its own as it waits silently from within for its wondrous moment of release.
For now, I can only watch as the days pass outside my bedroom window. In the distance, I can hear a baby crying and a woman laughing as birds sing out their songs. I imagine that their expressions are my own. They each speak for me with a voice and a freedom I do not yet possess.