Tourniquet (Redone)

I turned my original poem Tourniquet into an Italian sonnet

The rising, falling of my chest,

The steady pulse replaced

By a dull and painful ache

Fingers, frantically, pressed to my neck

 

Spreading numbness left unchecked,

Tears like sleet, heart-beat displaced,

Thundering storms for which I braced

Left me weeping, drowning in the wreck

 

Gasping for air, the rise and fall

Miraculously, I still remain

The storm has ended and yet

My heart still hesitates to call

But free at last, I dare exclaim

Finally loosened the tourniquet.