Warning Is Not Repair

Warning Is Not Repair

There my body goes again,

Introducing me to yet another ache;

They seem to be piling and hanging around,

Surely, I’m not that interesting that they want to stay,

At least not for a fortnight or a month,

Or is it three?

I can’t keep track anymore.

I am not an old man with creaking bones,

Yet, my warning lights are all flashing,

The check-engine light is especially persistent,

But an early warning system only works to inform,

Not to repair the damage in the system,

It says,

‘Pay attention.’

This is why the aches were first niggles,

But I didn’t pay give them a second look,

Not in any real sense of trying to understand,

I just wanted them to be gone; to leave me alone,

And now it seems they have multiplied their effect,

And taken up residence.

The residential nature of the visit is weighing on me,

And the constant grind of my mental gears,

Is not only loud, but a recipe for catastrophic damage,

So, while the alarm bells blare away,

I can barely hear them,

And even if heard them,

What am I to do?

I can’t even tell what the issue is exactly.

As the days tick by,

It’s no longer about the alarms or the noise,

The late-stage warnings are more on the nose,

The body begins its version of sputtering,

The psychological noise has become physiological impact,

I am doing more but getting less done,

The easy quick run has become a hectic slow crawl,

I am stuck in a recursive downward spiral,

With the spin faster with every turn.

But just as the despair is bedding in,

A fellow traveller pulls alongside,

No words are exchanged; only nods,

He seems to understand the situation I am in,

Without necessarily needing a narrative,

Together, we tie the towing rope and set off,

While I may not be moving under my own steam for now,

I am no longer caught in quicksand,

Instead, I edge forward slowly,

For now,

This is all the momentum I need.