When life, seems like a nightmare
from which there is no escape,
no one to pinch
no way to wake
no pills to take,
to make, the stench smell rosey,
to drain the dread
out of my heart
no fence to scale, no screach-ing, rusty, gate,
When, words of fear are spinning
like a gyre inside my guesthost, skull,
a whirling top
wobbling non-stop
a pin-point brain mop
circles in crops in mindfields, of marigolds
plant-ed with love, springfed
but message obsucre - ed
by a small muddy pond, of tears, over full.
When hope, is a four letter word,
black not white lies, abound
clinched, sore teeth
self-sad grief
trapped underneath
relief, is what, tall trees, do year-round.
Rotting roots
long lost un-truths
when I fall, will I make a sound?
