a friend was so sad she spoke of suicide
i was grateful she confided
red alarms when folk go silent
and will not speak their dark cloud moods
i listened to her and wrote poems
some as short as this one
until she started writing her own
and did not need the structure of another
sometimes,we are hearing aids
sometimes walking frames
a hand ,and eyes,an ear lent for a time
cuts down the rope that hangs us up
suspended in silence,swinging in dark
a little light ,a candle,a start
to add to life via art.
No comments:
Post a Comment