The Carousel

Have you ever thought of illnesses as carousels of life?

Where you don't get on by choice, nor get off by free will.
Your tickets are cut well in advance, probably the day you are born
And the ride starts when your time comes.

There are spectators cheering you on, telling you to hold on
But the pain is yours alone to get through
Sometimes it slows, allowing you to catch a breath
Sometimes it spins so fast, making you dizzy and faint

The other seats are taken too
By people who share your karmic roadmap
You see a familiar pain reflected in their eyes,
Glistening with unshed tears above their masks.

There's no music here, just machines beeping
No colorful lights, just reflections of monitors
Blue for heart, green for pulse, red for oxygen.

Some get off before you and some after,
Some walk out with a new lease of life
While some reach the end of their journey.

There are times when you get so tired
Your tiny hands long to let go, and the unknown beckons so temptingly
It promises an end to the ride, an end to the pain
It vows there will be no more of being poked and prodded,
Just a lot rest and repose.

Then from somewhere voices call out to you
They asks you to hold on, to hold on tight
They promise the ride shall end soon
They stir up memories of happy times, of love, laughter and family
Your grip tightens as the voices talk to you nonstop, hour after hour, day after day.
These are the voices you heard since you were created,
Before you ever saw the faces they belonged to.

You find yourself being pulled in two directions
Each offering something that you covet
There is no one to help, the decision is yours alone.

The carousel spins as the clock ticks...


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