I sat on a bench
In the corner of a courtyard
About ten years ago
It was large but hardly vast
Near sixty yards square or so

Surrounded by a rough hewn wall
Round six feet high it seemed
Lost in a peaceful memory
A soft focus pre Easter dream

In the opposite corner
On the diagonal perceived
A fully laden Cherry Blossom
Swelled and shook and breathed

Through its essence and existence
Through it's roots and bark it heaved

As if ready to impart a message
I felt grateful to receive
A holy thing to take with me
When
I stood
And turned to leave

Then out of nowt
A tiny tornado
Appeared at the midway point
Like a spectral referee incarnate
Explaining the rules of the joint

He bowed to both parties
Swirled round the mortal pitch
Encompassing the tree
Every petal gently pinched
Then carried to me
In a widening perfumed gyre
I could feel it's cleansing warmth
An exquisite painless fire

I was encircled fully
Music like I'd never seen
Swaythed from head to toe
In the brightest of pinks and creams
The aroma almost killed me
The most cinematic of scenes.

Then the spirit was gone
Fragrance piled high at my feet
Now I did not belong
My dance card replete
I sniffed back a tear
I stood up and left
It's never happened again
Easter now so bereft.

I walk, but I do not move.
The floor is solid, unyielding,
cold concrete pressing against my bare soles.
I do not remember when I began,
only that I cannot stop.
Above, a ceiling I have never seen
hanging like a sky too weary to hold itself up.
A sky of heaving darkness. Thick as tar.
Clouds so thick they devour the light,
so heavy they press against my thoughts,
shaping them into something I cannot hold.
The silence here is a living thing.
It slithers through the cracks of my mind,
settling into the spaces where hope once bloomed.
No whispers, no voices—
only the sound of my own footsteps,
dull, lifeless,
never echoing, never answering.
Pillars rise from the concrete.
Monolithic, ancient,
marble treaked with veins of shadow.
They stand like forgotten gods,
spaced far apart,
too vast to be real,
too distant to be touched.
And yet, they are nothing here.
Swallowed whole by the endless height,
dwarfed by the great and hungry dark.
They reach upward,
but they will never find the top,
just as I may never find a way out.
I call out, but the walls refuse to answer.
Are there walls?
Or is this an endless void,
a cage without edges,
a prison without a door?
I keep walking,
circling the same unseen pain,
dragging my thoughts like chains
across a floor that does not care.
And somewhere, in the thick of the silence,
something watches—
or maybe, nothing does.
And maybe that is worse.

The silence is not empty.
It hums, it swells, it presses against my skin
until I can hear nothing else.
No voices, no distant echoes—
just the weight of quiet,
thick as fog, heavy as stone.
And in the spaces where sound should be,
my thoughts emerge.
They slip from the shadows,
formless at first, but then—hands,
grasping, pulling, clawing their way into me.
They whisper truths I do not want to hear.
They twist memories into specters,
turning my past into a noose,
tightening with every breath.
I try to hold on, to keep my grip,
but they are relentless.
Sometimes, they rip me away,
tearing at the fragile threads
of the life I’ve fought to keep together.
I watch it unravel in slow motion,
each strand slipping through my fingers
as I am pulled deeper,
farther,
away.
No one sees the battle.
No one hears the struggle.
To them, I am quiet.
To them, I am whole.
But inside, the silence roars,
and the shadows hold me close,
waiting for the next moment
to take me again.

Don't judge me
you don't know me enough
as I'd not render
unto you such-

let's lead our own lives
each in  grace and in good faith
only our own business we'll mind
silently our joys to celebrate

our own sorrows to gently bear
with courage, without bitterness
unknown to the world outside
in our singular loneliness

my final hour will arrive
this same path we'll tread
each their own farewell to bid
nothing else would need to be said

Less is manageable
more is trouble

After the utmost helplessness
the sufferer draws from his deepest resources
hitherto undiscovered and untapped
and mysteriously such plight he has conquered -

the human spirit can't be broken
no part of it can ever be stolen:
it takes the greatest pain for its resurrection
no ally does he need--- he struggles and triumphs alone