The Migraine

By John Hansen

A kaleidoscope of colours

Crashing through my brain,

Like a million daggers,

Sharp and piercing pain.

I crush the pillow to my head

To suffocate the hurt.

A moan escapes my parched dry lips,

But I try to lie inert.

Maybe if I try to read?

No, that’s a hopeless cause.

My head aches more, my eyes are fogged,

I drop the book and pause.

I can’t lie still, I toss and turn,

Then stagger from my bed.

What the hell is wrong with me,

This throbbing in my head?

Possibly some soothing sounds

Will help to ease the pain.

Celtic Whispers starts to play

As I recline again.

My Florence Nightingale appears

With aspirin and green tea.

I close my eyes and drift away,

The pain replaced by dreams.

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