Explore "Malady (F. S. Flint)" by Frank Stuart Flint on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I move; / perhaps I have wakened; / this is a bed; / this is a room; / and there is light.
Darkness!
Have I performed / the dozen acts or so / that make me the man / men see?
The door opens, / and on the landing -- / quiet!
I can see nothing: the pain, the weariness!
Stairs, banisters, a handrail: / all indistinguishable.
One step farther down or up, / and why?
But up is harder. Down!
Down to this white blur; / it gives before me.
Me?
I extend all ways: / I fit into the walls and they pull me.
Light?
Light! I know it is light.
Stillness, and then, / something moves: / green, oh green, dazzling lightning!
And joy! this is my room; / there are my books, there the piano, / there the last bar I wrote, / there the last line, / and oh the sunlight!
A parrot screeches.