The psyche paces out its boundaries like a caged tiger,
passing the grasses of forgiveness,
the rock of equanimity, the pool of sorrow
the wood-chips of futility, the gravel of dismissiveness
the wire of hate (turning) the stump of rage (turning)
the trembling tree of tenderness,
the covert of continuing love;
but all the while it longs for freedom,
to run and run and forget and lose itself
and find itself under different stars,
far from such misfortune.
YOU ARE READING
Gifts and Shards Vol 1
PoesíaThis is the volume of poems written when Catherine walked out of the door in mid April 2013 and I started writing poetry daily. There are no similar stories!
