Description Of The Poem ' Prologue '

I could feel a thin sheet of fabric on top of my weak body. As I regain my conscious, I could hear repetitive beeps next to me. I turn to my left to see a heart monitor. I could see each vibrant green line waving up and down. I was in a room of white. A white blanket, white furnishings, white walls, and white marble floors. When the realization that I was in a hospital, I begin to panic. Where is my family? Where am I? How long have I been out? Just as I was going to try to move out of the bed, an outburst of doors flew open and a nurse in white walked

Sitting in a hospital waiting room, alone, afraid; and waiting for the news; would she be ok? Would she even survive? My nerves were out of control; my heart was beating through my chest, you could literally see it thumping through my top. The beads of sweat racing down my forehead, as if I was in the middle of the Safari dessert. I have been an athlete my entire life, yet I have never felt so physically drained. I look around, my eyes opening, then closing; as if I am coming in and out of consciousness, then suddenly echoed words begin to ring around my ear drums….” Sir…...sir, can you hear me? Sir please, we need to know what happened. We need to know what happened to her. Maybe my motionless state showed my

Once I got in the car, my mother started one of her many lectures, “You do understand that we cannot be late for a surgery, they will not hesitate to reschedule you”, I replied as usually with a, “Yes ma’am”. I then noticed that we had already started our excursion towards the Mobile Infirmary Center at the Orthopedic Group. Upon our arrival my mother told me to go ahead and check myself in while she parked the car. As I approached the doors a feeling of anxiety started to crawl its way into my body. The doors then proceeded to swooshed open as if anticipating me. I was instantly bombarded with a cool breeze, which

The pounding of footsteps rang through the clearing. I could hear my heart thumping. The footsteps grew louder and louder. Harsh shouts erupted from behind me. They were coming. So, I ran. Time slowed as I darted in and out of the dark trees. I eyed the woods around me. Surely, there had to be a someone there, but I could see no one. All seemed calm, aside from hunting cry of a bird. Dimly, I sensed a presence behind me. I spun to meet my hunter a second too late. And all at once, I realized with a shock, I was hit.

“Hospitals are the epicentre of pain and suffering. Here you’ll find that everyone has their own story, and that man you see standing over at the far corner, with his elbow sticking out at the wrong angle shares the same surrow as his terminally ill neighbour - merely twelve years of age.” I wasn’t prepared for this. A summer spent catering to a diverse branch of individuals, some bordering on the edge of passing on to the next life. It was a co-op placement, for God's sake. But standing there, listening to the words of my supervisor made me realize that it didn’t matter whether I was prepared, it was now my responsibility. It was more than I could say compared to the ten-year-old whisked away from the reaches of his mother, crying out in anguish

As I’m wheeled through the silver doors into the sterile white operating room, I begin to panic. This is my first surgery, and I feel as if I am in a living nightmare. Before I can even think about it, the nurses guide me onto the skinny white operating room bed. A few seconds later, the blue-green anesthesia mask is put on my face, and I feel like I am going underwater with my eyes closed. Then everything around me goes completely black.

The wind rushes past me as I barrel through the forest, oblivious to the noise I am creating in my wake. There is only one option. We have to get out. Get out as fast and far as possible before it's too late. Before they find us.

Wrapped in my new blanket, IV still in my vein, my bed was wheeled down the hall into a room I had never seen before. Everything smelled of bleach and alcohol, burning the insides of my nose. Everything around the room was noise to me, for the only thing that stole my attention was the operating table, center stage under countless lights.

My eyes raged with fury like orbs of blistering flames. I briefly shut my eyes and willed the pain away. As I whizzed around the bend, my muscles stretched and pushed harder and Samantha fell behind the pace. The rapid miraculous beat of my shoes hitting the track released my accumulated anger and frustration. My soul was at its summit and finally I felt free.

In Edward Taylor’s “Prologue” he seeks to demonstrate the inferiority of man in respect to God’s glory. Taylor begins his piece by creating a metaphor in which his own subsidiarity to God is described in terms of physical stature and uniqueness. He then purposefully includes phrases with erroneous meter and imperfect rhymes to demonstrate that his inferiority extends to his abilities as a writer. Taylor further attempts to establish his lack of authorial skills by including repetitious words, implying that he lacks an extensive vocabulary. When combined these tactics serve to support the idea that Edward Taylor has many shortcomings, both as a human and a poet, especially in comparison to the greatness of God.

I woke up that morning, the same as any other. Still in that blank old hospital room, the same stiff hospital bed with the little red button to signal the nurse when I woke up or needed help. I pressed the button and heard Lilly coming down the quiet hallway. The door creaked open slowly and Lilly peaked her head in the room, “Good Morning Noah.” She’s always so smiley and sunshiney, she’s the only nurse like that here. “Ready to get dressed and get some of that delicious breakfast you love so much?” I sat up and smirked at her cause she knows how much I hate the breakfast here. Grabbing my glasses off the small cheap bedside table I could see Lilly 's smile more clear now. She came by the bed with my clothes and left the room to get my

Blood overfilled my mouth, as I quickly rushed inside the cabin. I tumbled into the wet room, and dribbled blood all over the sink. Breathing became a labor, and I hung my head low, letting the metallic-tasting liquid drain off my lips. After an extended period of time, I conjured up the bravery to leave the wet room. My palate continued to be pumped with the blood that is my own, and I felt myself losing my sight. I threw down my body onto the loveseat, before I passed out. I glanced over at the door as it is slammed open…

“Help me. He is coming for me. Help me. I need to run, “ I begged with my parched lips cracking, but my eyes closed with my mind drifting off in memory.

“Hey, Kill,” Hunter shouts. My body starts to tense up as I prepare to fight. Right before I am about to through my first punch a warm hand touches my shoulder and I whip around to see who the hand belongs to. I am suddenly

She comes towards us, with a look of uttermost sadness, she mouths “I’m sorry”, to me.