Of my voice isn’t healing
You, say, that we have nothing
Left to count on; that we is “me”
Shaking me up with your pain,
My mind wants to Wake Up
Without the doubt and strain
Of “This is all there is”
A scratch, or fracture you guess
A razor tongue cuts me so deep
I pound out wavering words
On bloody broken keys
A bending blade of grass
In the wind, don’t need mending
Like trees that strong and wise
Crack, SNAP-off in that same brutal gust
Until, every passing day, further away
My words won’t come out straight
Dreading when the storm comes,
Howling in to take me out
Back up and shelter
Next to me, without the knife
I’m not a fallen mighty tree
But a bending blade of green.
Back up and take a seat
Next to me.
3 comments:
Dear writer
You’re torn between feeling and judgment. Stay steadfast by balancing patience and persistence. Live in present, you are now-here, do best as per physical and mental capacity. You will be fine, Have inner strength with calmness. I can see end of the tunner a bright light for future.
I believe you are right. I am exercising my patience every day.
Thank you for your keen insight.
Post a Comment