There is a pain
that makes trees tell lies,
the sun seem a menace,
an ogre of the sky,

A pain
that makes mornings prowl as beasts,
visitors squirm uneasy,
a glass of wine, a poison.

There is a pain
that dictates a rainbow of drugs,
tugs at my decades,
exterminates motherhood,

A pain that covers thought,
unwrites poetry,
invites depression,
makes death perfection,

slowly.

Sonja Broderick

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/backpain/