Oh wishing washing wishing well,
my wish to you, I wish to tell!

Before I speak, you spoke as-well,
“What is that retched stank, your smell!”

I ask, I yell, “How do you mean?”
Today I washed! See I am clean!?

“You see, I saw, what you have seen,
burdens—you have, your soul—unclean!

how can you wish at the well—but,
not wash the well, from comes, your thought!?”

“Tis, you say, a stupid pool!
trapped in brick, are you a fool?

Can’t you see that I am free?
From boundaries—which hold you, a detainee!”

“My boundaries are physical, I’m free in thought,
yours are mental, you yourself, brought.”

Your catatonic troubles
they cause you to unravel.

Or spin and spin in doubles,
and push you to take travel.

To escape that what is here,
hoping it wont be there.

You arrive, it’s something different,
truly, you thought, you could get distant.

You see, your sight deceives you!
There nor here, no vacation can relieve you.

From that which you wish to escape,
so give up...
and accept your fate.

That you are plagued with worries
A confrontation you would hate.

Its like we are born with pain,
but everybody wants to numb it.

Aware of suffering in the world,
but we don’t want to help it.

Instead, we find other ways
to make ourselves happy.
Instead we find other ways
to silence our troubled hearts.

buying things,
and buying things,
and buying things,
but never giving...

we never stop to ask,
why do I buy these things?
If it’s not that—which I need,
is it not to fill some void?

a void failed to be filled without spending?
to fill that which is left from not—
living the way the heart knows,
would let us sleep at night...

By knowing it was a day well spent.
doing what we could and should,
for those that needed help.

knowing that I didn’t turn away,
and pretend to not be bothered;
by all the pain that comes to me,
from not giving all it is I own.

For, when night comes,
and sleeps sleep comes with it,
we will contemplate the day we had
and the pain we numbed throughout it.

for there is no escape from night,
and how you lived throughout the day.

Standing in the kitchen,
I thought to myself,

Each year since I was young,
my mom would make these cookies...
truly amazing cookies,
for Christmas, every year,

but over the years,
they never tasted as good
as they once did.
Over the years, they got worse...

and I couldn’t help but think,
nothing is as good,
as when its made with love.

Now as a reminder each year,
I chew, chasing a taste that,
once filled the innocent mouth,
of someone who didn’t notice

that moms cookies never tasted the same,
since she cheated on my dad.