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

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