Anxious in the Afternoon

It occurs to me that the days which I wait for

The minutes I pray for

And the moments from which I expect a new world,

born before my very eyes

are often broken,

empty, illusions,

wobbling back on forth on the table before they fall.

They take advantage of my hope and attention

and draw my silly young mind away,
like any simple, perfect distraction, from

real life.

Illness

It's a new kind of blind

one with many holes and little to explain

Glasses will not remedy this, 

nor will simple medication.

Antibiotics, painkillers, therapy.

What, I ask you, could I take?

so that I could see fully

the cracks in the steel

of the bars

of the cage

of the dark

of the room

I am trapped.

My life went from a pile of stones
With rounded smooth edges,
like soil, like loam

My life went to the worn out concrete
The moss is attacking,
the cracks obsolete

In the flash of a moment, this could happen to you
You could give it all up,
Oh! what tricks life will do

You won’t see as it taunts
And teases your brain
Until its too late!
And your life, full of cracks,
Is crippled with pain.