each one distinct, looking
for its own path
yet entwining with each
other to forge ahead
as fast as they can go.
I feel helpless as
they course through
me.
Where do I go?
It's temporary this suspension.
I know. I know.
I know I can't help feel
the red rivulets spilling.
My cup runneth over.
There are not enough rags
of hope and compassion
to soak this liquid fire.
Anger is difficult to control
especially when it is a down
and out conflagaration.
Do you stifle it?
Do you start from the bottom?
or do you fight fire with its
own by drowning it?
I can't breathe.
I succumb
only to be rescued by an angel.
Note: Sometimes you just have to get it out (again). This one was from 2000. Our days are not always pretty; we just try to deal with them. Tomorrow is another.
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