Thursday, October 3, 2019


Poem #7

This poem won’t fix everything.
It won’t make it hurt any less.
The wound will heal at its own pace
Rinse, clean white gauze, wet to dry.
Eat well, nutrition, rest
Sleep when the sun sets.
It takes time.
You must fill this empty space
With words and lines 
While you wait.  
Those old jagged scars
Are markers of time
The spaced minutes
On a clock’s face
The hash marks etched 
Into the gray wall of your solitary cell


1 comment:

Oldfoolrn said...

Your poems are hypnotic. I can't stop reading them. I would comment more, but most of the time you leave me speechless. Splendid work!