A Prescription

silence and time
are the healers
of rich and poor

Decompression

At times
Only dreams
Act as those kind friends
Who help unravel
The painful tangles
Of everyday living

Wood Thrush

The voices that fade away
And the smiles that turn into looks of derision
For affection to be met by anger
And goodwill viewed with suspicion
When I am tired of humanity
When I am tired of being human
I listen to the wood thrush’s song
Who sings so beautifully, even alone

Grief

Making sense of one’s emotions
The twisted conundrums of why
I thought the crying ceased yesterday
But today brings fresh thoughts and tears

The Negative

Where is trouble kept?
Worry and sadness and anger
If I could, I would banish them into nothingness
But why must dislodging it from my heart
Put a shadow of it in yours?
A hydra which grows twice as many heads
As those that are cut and lopped
I heave a rusted sword and can only hope

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