THOUGHTWAY

Hand holds pen,
pen slides through words,
words fly from mind,
mind burns with when,
when truth was bound to kind.

Memory arrests sight,
sight stares backwards,
backwards lies all,
all is white,
white is blank to ever-recall.

Blanks are the past,
past hazy forms and smiles,
smiles of pity from above,
above him in a social world,
world that’s feeling love.

Wretched is the creature poor,
poor in treasures of affection,
affection of a new identity,
identity that could be hoped for more,
more never came for he.

Hand holds hand,
hand feels warmth,
warmth blooms in swollen chest,
chest lies in the beauty-land,
land that only comes when we do rest.