Tides ebb and flow
within all of us, even
without lunar activity.

The shores of our minds
host a nights deposit of
cognitive sediment, daily.

Those who beach comb
are consciously aware
of the sea shells secrets.

~~~~~~~~
Furrows on
the forehead
are torments
of the mind.

Pain has no echo but
it is tinnitus, to some.

One doesn’t have to
witness the splash
to read the ripples.

Feeling vibrations on
webs if compassion is
empathy, emphasised.

Invisible stitching is the
tailors art, but scars of
emotion cannot be hidden.

All addictions begin in
pain and end in pain.
Only substances change,
the rest remains insane.

Clean, dry, and sober?
That don’t mean a ****,
fear is cortisol dopamine,
we found a perfectly legal hit.

R.E.M.Terrors
(and awake ones)

I’m not just talking of
Dreams and nocturnal
Equines, but why I ask
Are night mares never
Rare up dark stallions?

Mine are, pitch as black,
With fiery eyes of a coal
Glazed un-blinkered stare,
Certainly not, teeth of a gift
Horse. Foaming at the mouth.

It is I am hostage of the corral,
Unable to flee these repetitious
Hauntings, I am wrap trapped,
Bandaged in blankets, mummified,
Rigor mortisly stiffened, with fear.



Ps

If any reader suffers this, I composed
It for you just so you are aware that
I experience it nightly, have done for
Three years, brought on initially by
Grief. It goes in the morning but a
Residue remains throughout the day.

capfiny@gmail.com

If you have any suggestions or if
You need to talk re your own pain.

Leaves glide
Undecidedly
In a breeze

Blown bubbles
Rise beyond
Ones vision

Smoke updrafts
To join passing
Clouds

Balloons fly high
To see if there is
A silver lining

Kites pretend
To want freedom
Yet mostly remain

Boomerangs rush
Off as though they
Will never return

Rain ponds, but
Slowly, it begins
To evaporate

Confetti falls just
Like snow, although,
It is unable to escape

People grow roots,
Then they anchor, in,
The forests of familiarity