I scream
But a world of deaf can not hear
A wail so loud piercing the night
Excruciating pain tearing at my heart
But a world of deaf can not hear
I bleed
But a world of blinds can not see
Crimson red, staining the bedsheets
Blood spattered across the streets
But a world of blinds can not see
I suffer
I’m battered and withered
But they choose not to see
They choose not to hear
My bleeding agony and silent screams
My bruised body and burning tears
I’m hurting
But a heartless world can not feel.

Go into the woods
and tell your story
to the trees.
They are wise
standing in their folds of silence
among white crystals of rock
and dying limbs.
And they have time.
Time for the swaying of leaves,
the floating down,
the dust.
They have time for gathering
and holding the earth about their feet.
Do this.
It is something I have learned.
How they will bend down to you
softly.
They will bend down to you
and listen.

Laura Foley, from Poetry of Presence An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems