Poetry in Medicine

New Poem . . . “Profession”


Earl Stewart, Jr.

We have stared death starkly

In the face,

While grasping life in the palm of

Our hands and releasing it

Gently into the atmosphere.

At midnight and beyond,

Objects of our passion and concession

Arrive, covered in blood, hypoxic,

Lethargic, dry, and desolate.

Yet, we are not disconsolate,

And so we stand.

We understand.

We take that stand to lend a hand

To life, with heart, with


We appreciate, circumspectly,

Each and everyone’s common condition.

Standing on the foundation of education,

Out of ignorance to humanity we were led and so lead,

To this and that,

And learn to be.

How can we but see suffering?

My, how there can be a buffering of the spirit,

In the spirit.

Tired and abused,

Battered and misused,

Strength and determination are the avenues down which

We dare to peruse

As we stand, clothed round about

Ourselves in a cloak of purity.

Yet the psyche of our bleeding hearts finds no sojourn

From hope, faith, and love.

Yet, it is love in which we have hope and faith, and we stand . . .

And press on.


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