Collecting approvals within, hoping to have some semblance of
cohesiveness and settling spontaneously in rhythms of togetherness, spinning tales of woe, relating them in poems of bereavement.
Totaling life’s suffering and beauty of teardrops always falling
within each of us in our daily lives.
Regrets and recriminations abound in memory, but when we breathe our
last breath on earth we know nothing more of it’s pain.
Memories stirred in little jars are brought forth and talked about.Listening to all this noise going on within my head, I retreat and withdraw within my hidden self to find peace this life cannot give to me.
Reaching out, finding that nothing is there and no one is waiting to take you in their arms or love you.Inanely lonely, totally forsaken, not being understood in a cacophony of turmoil, standing in the middle of the Sahara desert, no way to return to your former self.
designs that make more sense.Using them in beautiful landscapes of scenic,artistic, calculated formulas, and saved forspecial additions to a book of poems.
Sadly, heckling musicians as they earn a living, doing what they love best.Loneliness makes fools of those who turn to drinking to solve their problems.
Tears tenderly, softly, falling down tracks, etched over time from all the grief being expressed through many years of existence.Any thoughts left have nothing to being merciful, yet compassion fulfills many an hour in contemplation.
All this hectic commotion going on, while in a quiet exam room, the doctor sits calmly, quietly, going over results with another patient.
