A field--safe and vast as it need be
A place to scream, to cry; release
Tears, angst, and thought, and rage
And all from which my heart would flee
All that would make mere jest of sleep
Is left upon the page
Each day, a reason to retreat
To comfort zones, and not emerge
Until the field is filled
As if to earn a laureate's wage
Yet no amount of tender's worth
What's left upon the page
When my voice, under arrest;
Hushed by unrelenting news
And I can't fathom what to do
How to help, or engage
My recourse then, is to expel
The volumes desperate to tell
To share, in hopes, all will be well
And left upon the page
Like medicine, the field has been
From paper, to a blinding screen
Margins, left, right, and in between
Passion takes center stage
Simplicity, or weighty lines
Pour out as if by some design
Exclusively to purge my mind
And leave it on the page
Night brings assessment of the way
Today's mirroring yesterday
Surely, tomorrow will assuage
All lingering anxiety; every awful report
That motivates me to resort
To seeking joy, lest I abort
What could be on the page
VRWc2021
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment