Scattered thoughts
in worry’s kettle
they boil, bubble
and test your mettle
Your day gets buried
by tomorrow
Deep distress
morphs into sorrow
Sorrow blooms
into despair
With eyes shut tight
you cut your hair
You live your days
in underwear
Stained coffee cups
are everywhere
The blinking light’s
unanswered calls
Just windows, ceiling,
and four walls
Kitchen trash
and rotting fruit
Dirty laundry
crumpled suit
Gripped by it
it sticks like tape
Thoughts are formed
and then take shape
and so, you plan
your great escape
Then . . .
The sun
Seeps through
the blinds one day
Her emergence
takes your breath away
You brush your teeth
You comb your hair
A welcome break
from your despair
You hope it lasts;
you pray it does
Then it dawns on you
That hope is “was”
Because . . .
“was” is change
always pending
A twisting road
unknown and bending
I was depressed
it went away
It stuck to me
but did not stay
It will return
of this I’m sure
Because was is was
it’s not a cure
Still,
keep “was” close
in your darkest hour
Because “was” is hope
and hope is power
bendingtheneedle 