So I've never considered myself very good at poetry, more a prose person myself, but I've become hooked on old Trek fanzines recently (I love Ebay, among other things) and the poetry in some of them is just wonderful and beautiful. I had to at least try. This can be read standalone, but it is inspired by the situations in my fic "If You Need Me." There may be others. I'm not sure. Anybody know a better way to for mat poetry (stanzas) better on here? Never doe it before. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and if you like and think I'm at least not absolutely horrible at this please do let me know, lol. Thanks! :)

I'm a Doctor

I'm a doctor.

I'm supposed to care when someone

is suffering, or dying.

I'm supposed

to do something about it.

I do the best I can.

Sometimes it's not enough.

I'm not immune

to suffering.

Usually it's not you who's

suffering, or if it is

you hide it well. Usually

it's not you I have to worry about.

Stoic Vulcan face. Eyes

straight ahead, accepting help

from no one.

You heal yourself, your

own way.

The Vulcan way.

Alone.

You can't do that

this time. Your controls

are gone.

Your walls stripped away

by an unseen enemy.

An invasion of your body,

your mind, your Vulcan

self. You're exposed.

You're suffering, mind

and body.

I can't help you, and why

do I feel it this much?

I'm a doctor. That

should explain it, and guilt, but

it doesn't. You're my friend,

too. I know how much

this hurts you, to be

this way.

It hurts me too.

But I can't

tell you that. Would

you even understand?

Maybe. You, Jim, and I;

we're a family now.

Sometimes I think

you understand it, and

what it means, the way

you look at us.

Though

more with Jim

than with me, I think.

You would call him

brother. But me?

No barriers. You're

in pain, and you

let Jim hold you.

He has to, really, so

you don't harm yourself

thrashing.

It would seem cruel

to use straps now, so

someone has to.

But me?

I'm a doctor. I

have to be at the ready,

in case of something

unexpected. We don't want

to lose you.

I'm on my feet, ready, while

Jim is at your back,

your comfort, your restraint.

You're thankful

he's there.

I don't like this.

I don't like listening

to any friend of mine

screaming.

I tell myself

I'm a doctor. I shouldn't

let it get to me, at least

not too much.

It does.

Jim is gone for now.

He doesn't want

to be gone, but

he has to

be the Captain, after all.

It's just me, here

for you, because I

can't do anything else.

Guilt again.

You look at me,

bleary eyes and uneven

breaths. I know

what I see.

What do you see?

Maybe you see

more than I think.

You reach

for my hand, and after

a moment's hesitation

I take yours that's offered.

I can feel

your gratitude, through

the contact.

Thank you, my friend,

a soft echo in my mind.

For being here.

You knew I needed

that. That reassurance.

Damned Vulcan.

You're more human

than you want to admit.

Emotional insight being a purely

human trait.

You're also a better man

than I am.

Nonsense.

I start. I didn't know

you were listening to

my thoughts, still.

"Shut up, Spock."

The pain's gone for now.

"Sleep." Listen to me,

I'm a doctor.