1.
if by anxiety's breath the limbs are chain'd
to the bed, the floor, the bathroom floor
weariness from yester-pain
weariness from the world beyond the door

if the pinions of sorrow
fly o'erhead or below
from news of loss or news of war
of what makes those tears flow
and flow

if by hate the blood is red
seeping from wounds of thoughts
and tongues that twist and spread
fire, great fire of the droughts

if the path sought appears long and same
the trees same green and the air heavy
till you cant breathe or say a lover's name
or love itself tastes old and dusty

if the world disappoints
                     and disappoints...
                                      
2.
Train to restrain Your fists
Your tongues and thoughts
Fall not into the yester-pit
the opaque mists it bought

Train to restrain the sorrow
make a path anew, paint the trees
a different hue
Let those tears bring a new flow
let not the rage mist follow

the world is just a point
                       a speck; pointless