Are healing and curing joined at the hip?
Or two separate things, like wagon and ship?
Could it be said they’re miraculous things,
As ringing a bell gives angel his wings?
Does one pull t’other, like oxen and cart?
Or one hold another, as body does heart?
Doctors might say they’ve ordinal features.
Marching in sequence; soldierly creatures.
I’m but a man with a shaking condition,
But offer to you this humble submission.
For trials by fire, had more than a few.
Had rights of passage to find my way through.
Through sleepless nights I’ve tossed and turned.
Friends who have helped me, left others concerned.
Emergency rooms; muscle relaxants.
Faced furious son; daughter’s long absence.
Behaviors unhealthy; strange fixations.
Trembling limbs and numbing sensations.
My two-decade marriage has nearly ended.
My sparkling career is broken, un-mended.
The ship of our family through tempests was tossed.
Our love for each other was thought nearly lost.
For all of that, we’ve begun to recover.
The love thought lost has been rediscovered.
Though that steady blaze of marriage be ending,
The embers that glow are still worth the tending.
Was my great misfortune to be PD-bitten.
But story’s not over; there’s more to be written.
We’ve all got our demons; all turn into dust.
The most hardened of steel soon gathers its rust.
As to the question of healing and cure.
Of my righteous answer, I’m reasonably sure.
There’s not yet a cure for my PD condition
Yet my healing hopes have come to fruition.