Sometimes I hear ,
myself in a calm place
and a casual time,
with the shadows of stars,
under the bright moonlight;
on the streets,
where a mother holds a child,
protecting her love,
them satisfying their hunger,
in a good warm supper.

Oh dear one,
is it your smile
or the stories of the
tortured souls
playing nice for once?

Is this the cure
or an illusion of panacea ?