Poem: The Woes of the Ornamental Sword

 

 

The Woes of the Ornamental Sword

standing sword, in the corner

unsharpened, tarnished blade pointing downward

too dangerous for play

too benign for war

standing sword, in the corner

casts its thin shadow toward the coward

too alike are they

too hopeful for more

standing sword, in the corner

a naked, unsheathed blade facing forward

too violent to pray

too far from the door

Poem: embracing the hangman

embracing the hangman

for aching joints, and scratchy skin

I know I am alive

for clutching chest, and labored breath

I know I am alive

for downcast eyes, and heavy heart

I know I am alive

for troubled mind, and wanting words

I know I am alive

in pain and not in pleasure, in sorrow not in jest

in loss and not in treasure, in tossings not in rest

these muted tones of struggle from graying days of rain

the lonely rooms of silence with clicking clocks as friends

send me to the hangman - a full embrace I give

that which is killing me is teaching me to live

Have you ever found it necessary to embrace your pain in order to keep your sanity?