Poem 61

I fear that I’ll fail to keep my grip

On the good moods in life

That the dark thoughts will overcome

The ongoing fight.

I push the darkness away

But the words attach deep

They cut the good into the ground

Ready to sow new seeds.

I’ll wish and I’ll pray that new moods flower

To sustain this decaying body of mine.

A week, a month, a year before

The return –

will I ever be fine?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s