Anaesthesia [sonnet]

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When crazed and wanton anaesthesia
coldbloodedly applied through my own hand
gripped me with surrealistic seizure
against all suitors I could coolly stand.

So there I stood without a winter coat
convinced my stoic heart would never melt.
I didn’t know there was an antidote
in human form releasing all I felt.

But then your shimmer woke me with a start
(before I’d wandered lonely as a shroud)
and now my eyes have sparkling beauty marks
in place of threatening thunder-laden clouds.

If you had found me countless years ago
a lifetime’s worth of ice could freely flow.

© 2011, Alan Morrison

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