Saturday 16 April 2022


by Nick Gisburne

Though every inch is spotless, scrubbed, pristine,
Her mind imagines oceans of disease,
A seething swamp, impossible to clean.
She weeps, in silence, falling to her knees.
In bondage to this pointless, painful toil,
Unable now to simply step aside,
Invisible contaminants despoil
The peace she is eternally denied.
No fragment, not a corner of her mind,
Reveals a rhyme, a reason, for the curse.
Obsession leaves her powerless to find
Salvation from a tainted universe.
    Again, forever, constantly, she cleans,
    Oblivious to what her madness means.