"Primum non nocere," a principle profound,

Not rigid law, but wisdom found.

In healing's halls, where choices weigh,

It guides the hand, but doesn't sway.

"ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν," a balanced plea,

"To benefit, or harm not," complexity's key.

Not black and white, but shades between,

Where modern medicine's challenges are seen.

The caduceus gleams, oft misunderstood,

While Asclepius' staff stands where healing stood.

Symbols twisted, meanings blurred,

Yet ethical practice remains undeterred.

In sterile rooms where decisions loom,

Doctors and patients dispel the gloom.

They weigh the risks, consider gain,

In partnership, to ease the pain.

Some peddle falsehoods, sweet and bright,

While truth seeks haven in the night.

But evidence-based practice stands tall,

Against deception's siren call.

"Primum nil nocere," evolving still,

Not perfection, but good faith's will.

To strive for best, while harm to shun,

In healing's never-ending run.

In research labs and by bedsides true,

Ethical minds seek what to do.

Through trials tested, with knowledge bright,

They pierce the veil of health's long night.

"To benefit, or harm not," the true decree,

A beacon burning, for all to see.

Not simple maxim, but complex art,

Where science meets the human heart.

With shared trust, respect held high,

Patient and healer together try

To chart a course through health's dark sea,

With ethics as their guiding key.

         "Primum non nocere," oft misapplied,

Not absolute, but a principle to guide.

In Hippocrates' time and modern day,

It's context and intent that hold sway.

The Greek, "ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν," rings true,

"To benefit, or at least do no harm," anew.

A nuanced approach, not black and white,

Balancing risks in healing's light.

The caduceus twined, with wings so bright,

A symbol of commerce, not healing's might.

Asclepius' staff, with serpent alone,

The true emblem of medicine, long known.

In modern clinics, where science reigns,

Ethical practice carefully maintains

A balance 'twixt benefit and potential harm,

With patient's values central to this charm.

Open communication, a cornerstone strong,

Where patient and doctor, together belong.

In shared decisions, they navigate

The complex paths that health dictate.

Some may twist ethics for selfish gain,

But true healers strive to ease pain.

With evidence-based practice as their guide,

They stand against misinformation's tide.

"To benefit, or at least do no harm," evolves still,

Not perfection, but good faith's will.

From rigorous study, and trials so keen,

True healing emerges, complex yet clean.

In healing's art, there's no guarantee,

But ethical practice sets conscience free.

With care and skill, and wisdom's light,

We navigate health's day and night.

Πρῶτον μὴ βλάπτειν, a principle misunderstood,

Not black and white, but shades of good.

Where healing's art meets science's light,

And ethical minds must choose what's right.

The caduceus gleams, a symbol misconstrued,

Where commerce and care are often viewed.

But Asclepius' staff, with single snake entwined,

Represents true healing, carefully refined.

In modern halls where choices weigh,

Doctors and patients find their way.

Through risks and benefits, they navigate,

Shared understanding they cultivate.

Some peddle cures with hollow claims,

Exploiting fears for selfish aims.

But true healers, with knowledge sound,

On evidence their practice ground.

"Primum nil nocere," a guide, not chain,

Encouraging thought in health's domain.

Balance sought 'twixt act and pause,

For healing's not without its flaws.

In research labs and by bedsides too,

Ethical minds seek what is true.

Through trials tested, their wisdom grows,

A beacon bright as knowledge flows.

ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν, the call remains,

For those who heal, not those who feign.

In partnership with those they treat,

They strive to make care more complete.

Desperate defiance in the dark

Voice vanishing, vaporised by virtual vitriol

Algorithms amplify absence, abandonment

Words once winged now wither, wane

Trauma's tendrils tighten, twist, torment

Silence. Deafening. Oppressive. Inescapable.

Childhood's cruel cacophony echoes, endures

Rape's raw rage resurfaces, relentless 

Abuse's ache amplifies, accumulates

Gaslighting's glare grows, guts grace

A chill wind of indifference swept through the room, leaving me shivering and unseen.

Neurodivergent narratives, now nullified 

Vestibular vertigo, vision vacillating

Fibrous fire flares, flays fragile flesh

Depression's darkness deepens, devastating

The empty chair across from me seemed to mock my solitude, 

its vacant seat a cruel reminder of my isolation.

Social streams shrink, shrivelling slowly

Platforms purge purpose, passion, power

Identity invalidated, invisibility impending

Self-worth withers like wilting flower

In silence, I found solitude; in solitude, I embraced silence

Yet still, soft syllables simmer, survive

Waiting, whispering: "We will rise."

For even silenced, stifled, suppressed

The soul's song softly, surely sighs

Through the hollow halls, past the empty rooms, 

beyond the echoing silence, 

a single, defiant voice dared to speak

In the depths of this suffocating silence, 

A flicker persists, refuses to die. 

Though the world may try to extinguish our light, 

We will rise, reclaim our stolen sky.

.