Looking through my warm brown eyes
All I see is Grey
Steely cold and lacking
I sleep the day away

I want to see the lapis sky
The leaves so evergreen
But the lenses that I see through
Wash out the color scheme

My days are grey as are my nights
No indigo, twinkling sky-
My world is ever-montone
My secret wish to die.

No pill will ever cure this
No psychothera-py
I was born with grey colored glasses
This is who I be.

What are words, but a tool of gold
Unburnished gems to discover and hone
Words to me are windows to the soul
A heart with no words is a fisherman with no pole

My words have feeling, and meaning, and thought
Complete sentences, punctuation, carefully wrought
Edited and curated like I was taught in school, to package my message like a precious jewel.

But the culture at large has no time for my words,
No patience for complex thought
A sentence longer than five words is glossed over and then the message is lost

How do I take all that I see, hear, smell, taste, and feel
And put it into five short words
So that the masses can hear?

I feel a burden at work everyday
When i have to communicate or have something to say

I always thought this was the right way.
Maybe that was just from a time long passed away.

Those who read, write, think and appreciate the beauty of language are a dying breed

And my heart bleeds for our precious Words

My heavy heart braves the day
Like a sun-ripenened raspberry, bulging and quivering
On the verge of dispersement

What do you call the pain on your chest?
"Loss" is the name I say.
Loss of love, of trust, of happiness, of strength.
Loss of family, of safety, of faith, of me.

So many losses, too many to count--
That bear weight on my chest each day.
And when a compassionate soul comes my way-
The floodgates open a torrent of repressed tears.
Sweet catharsis; grief unleashed.