you inhale tragedies
and exhale poetry

The Sun does shine
Buy you see it through
A filigree of darkness
That casts shadows
Over monuments
Erected to show gladness.

The Whippoorwill still sings
But you hear it
Only as it echoes through
Long Tunnels stuffed
With pillows of regret
That mute it’s beauty.

The moon always rises
But it dances in and out
Of shadows formed
By clouds of desperation
Moved by winds
of Hopelessness.

The flowers bloom
But only on such
Fragile stalks
That they slump down
And spill their perfume
On the dirt below.

The music often plays
But you can barely
Hear it through
The howling winds
Of self doubt and
Recrimination.
        
                            The path is always there
But you prefer
To run in useless
Circles of depression
Never spotting happiness
That’s lying right before you.

The pieces of a life mosaic
Are scattered on the floor
Waiting for a steady hand
to make the vision real.
The only thing that holds it back
Is that one word ‘however’.
                               ljm