A sonnet

Photo by Husen Siraaj on Unsplash

How tempting is the beauty of a storm at sea?

Violent volts pulsing through a violet sky

while scattered showers shroud it’s severity

colossal waves chaotically collide.

I wander into her wrathful water

secretly seduced by the salty swells,

soon finding she’s a merciless monster

my darkest desires drag me to her hell.

Helpless to the hurricane I keep hidden

I descend deep into her dark abyss

aware now she’s the source of my affliction,

but can I escape her treacherous tricks?

Will I wither here in her wicked winds?

have I the strength to swim away from this?


A list of things I’m proud of doing

(Photo by Hamid Roshaan on Unsplash)
  1. Grown from my mistakes
  2. Learned to forgive others
  3. Learned to forgive myself
  4. Learned how to let go
  5. Learned to ask for help when I need it
  6. Done something that scared me
  7. Survived depressive episodes
  8. Unconditionally loved another person
  9. Learned to love who I am
  10. Set boundaries
  11. Written over a hundred poems
  12. I get more patient every day
  13. Learned to appreciate the little things in life
  14. Communicating with others effectively
  15. Becoming a CVOR tech
  16. I’ve learned to listen to others, to REALLY listen.
  17. Graduating high school
  18. Graduating scrub tech school
  19. Helped rebuild a house after Katrina
  20. Made two beautiful babies
  21. Working…


A sonnet

(Photo by Adarsh Kummur on Unsplash)

I never thought time a tangible thing,
yet days diminish like leaves the in fall
broken branches left but a barren tree-
stripped and splintered, somehow still it stands tall.

Moonlit memories run rampant and root
as rushing rainfall resurrects regret;
Dodging downfall proves a pointless pursuit
so I sit in showers of secrets suppressed.

What felt like forever faded below,
retreated into the rustling leaves;
what I once desired has decomposed
the bones of my being buried beneath.

If I trust trauma can transform a tree-
why do I doubt the seasons sculpting me?

This started as a sonnet…


A rondel poem

(Photo by Brandi Redd on Unsplash)

Why do I fear her, this woman within?
So desperate to destroy dark parts of me,
I pray for perfection I’ll never reach
so silently I sit, subdued again.

No secret seduction, the same old sins
dare I defy the devils offerings?
Why do I fear her, the woman within?
So desperate to destroy dark parts of me…

But what if instead I chose to forgive?
What if kindness towards myself was the key,
could I embrace who I am entirely?
It’s time now to pursue new perspective-
So why should I fear this woman within?


A sonnet

(Photo by Robina Weemeijer on Unsplash)

An attempt to void, yet again in vain
for fluid that once flowed so freely out
seems locked inside, causing nothing but pain
frantic with fear for what answers are found.

Tedious tests turn to talks of transplant
they focus first on toxins that build up
a fistula formed surgically now planned
bitterness builds, now the battle’s begun.

Another dreadful dialysis day
filtered four hours fussing to be freed;
God, grant to me the gift to get away
not sure I’ll last if you don’t intervene….

I fight for a fabricated fantasy
I don’t think a kidney’s coming for me.


A sonnet

(Photo by Piron Guillaume on Unsplash)

Skin preps require a three minute wait
time to address any safety concerns
once we all agree, I lay down a drape
we’ll focus on the proximal end first.

A gash to the groin, retractor is placed
using forceps and metz we dissect down
cautery and clips help to clear some space
right angle wraps a vessel loop around.

Behind the knee a distal cut is made
and we repeat the same steps once more.
A small cut’s made with an eleven blade
sew both graft ends and blood has been restored!

Stents can provide a patient perfusion
still, some prefer surgical solutions.


A sonnet

(Photo by Jair Lázaro on Unsplash)

Pops’ pain is a product of pesky plaque-
starving his heart of what it needs to beat,
it’s the culprit that caused his heart attack,
it seems a bypass graft is what he needs.

Thousands of adults have this done each year,
some with the help of a heart-lung machine,
Its completely normal to have some fear
but know this will help with his heart disease.

Imagine how wonderful it will be
for Pops to walk without an aching heart,
for him to feel he can once again breathe
waiting much longer could cause him more harm.

Coronaries clogged by cholesterol
left alone will surely be Pops’ downfall.


A sonnet

(Photo by JC Gellidon on Unsplash)

To mend an aneurysmal aorta-
we begin first by dissecting it out,
carefully navigating through organs
with care and caution, moving away bowel.

We then isolate each end with a loop
and measure to find a sizable graft,
pausing briefly we discuss what we’ll do
for the following steps will happen fast.

The room falls silent when the cut is made
as sutures fly through the surgeons skilled hands,
he then sews back over the graft he placed
we finish by closing the abdomen.

Nothing compares to the joy felt within,
following another surgical win.


A sonnet

(Photo by JC Gellidon on Unsplash)

Suddenly she’s scared to move in the slight,
trembling, trapped in the talons of terror.
A doctor shows her what threatens her life
explaining risks of repair and rupture.

She soon sees there is but one real option;
reading through endless pages of consents
causes her fears to grow, it makes her nauseous,
but still she signs each line with shaking hands.

Surrounded now by her surgical team
she lays on a bed in a cold OR,
anesthesia’s cocktail burns her IV
causing her vision to quickly go dark.

Will this woman survive this surgery?
Can a graft fix her bulging artery?


A sonnet

(Photo by LexScope on Unsplash)

Reluctantly I regress, ten steps back;
so I’m stuck it seems, somewhere sickening
left lingering, for discipline I lack.
Too much time tinkering has troubled me.

False feelings of triumph filled me throughout,
how stupid of me not to see the truth:
monsters in my mind will always want out,
and it seems they’re only silenced with booze.

So I start small- a single shot for now,
a vain attempt to drown the pain inside
drinking as much as my wallet allows,
it’s here that my past and present collide.

I’m torn between wanting a better life
and wanting to just get wasted tonight.

Ashley Lorraine Bridges

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