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Image for post
Photo by Jill Heyer on Unsplash


I have been too quiet here over the past few months.

When the feeling-words inside the soul
translate, bloodless and pale,
to the page. And passions die. . .

When the ‘real’ world involves
death trolling in nearby waters;
impending personal disasters, real or imagined;
depression, the demon who says that
nothing matters and no one cares. . .

It is easy to succumb at times
or to rage against the mental chains.
“Do something else. You don’t have to be here.
You’ll feel better if you play a game.
Let time pass, you’ll get back to it…”
So goes the patter in my mind.

I’ve been working on this post for 3 days.
I have no excuse.
I don’t write because I don’t write.
Maybe I enjoy kicking myself.
Punishing myself for punishing myself.
Is there closure or resolution?
Not that often. Sometimes there is only slow change.


— -

Poet. Philosopher. A sense of Humor. 60 years ago I rode the winds at the top of a tall cottonwood. Buy me a coffee @

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