I want to lay the language open with a knife,
and make her bleed through a gore so deep.
(I could do that too, I could be cruel.)
So that I could drink the syrup of poetry
that runs through her veins, to my minds full.
She would lie motionless, (her face calm and serene)
like a frog, etherized on the dissection table.
(Would she endure the boundless pain?)
I shall not stop until I have licked
her syrupy blood to the very last drop.
I shall cut open every bone to see,
if the marrow encloses the secrets of prose.
I shall dissect her heart and brain,
to see if a bit of soul rests there.
If I find one, I would give it wings,
to fly to the aboard of happiness, the sky.
At the end, I shall be able to publish,
A pound of freshly peeled flesh, which smells-
of blood, cut neatly from her heart.
And that would be my masterpiece.
Masterpiece
Blossoming Soul 
great
Netha i think anatomy classes are affecting you. Very well written. I think you forgot the formalin smell!
Very powerful poetry. I can feel the turbulence in your mind, as we all go through as new students of medicine. We have to first learn to harden ourselves before we can learn to be soft and kindly. Sad, isn't it?
Don't be so voilent. Approach it with love, love in which you are not there. Only then is there the masterpiece. 🙂
@ HariThank you very much.@ Bibi sir,Yes sir…..My anatomy classes inspired me to write this one….@ bluebird,What you say is exactly what I feel. Thanks for the comment.@ Venu sir,Thank you sir, for the comment.
among all your poems, this and 'poetic confessions' are my favorites.
Imagination! Cut it with a knife and publish….Good work