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Mr. AaronM, This situation made me pick up my book and throw together a poem. The poem is just a stream of consciousness reflection of feelings and besides the fact I'll be praying for Carol when I lay down to sleep in 10 minutes. Here it is, if you like you can show it to her when she's better as it might be a bit depressing atm. Take care.
Carol needs a heart or God'll finish what he started.
Our peddler's bracing prayers will come make black work undone.
And if potions cared to know why our bodies act retarded
Then Carol'd live forever and life wouldn't be any fun.
A meaningless resistance tied to the bombs of martyrs
while egos spill their bowels through music's placate tongue.
A meaningful existance can only be imagined,
I imagine lives of respiration unveil the cancers of a lung.
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