I need no rocks to line my pockets –
dashed dreams and disappointment
            weigh me down

and I go easily into deep river
of sweet forgetfulness, soothing
            waters of calm.

Madness muted, what relief to find
final resting place. Yes, my story could
            end as yours.

Ah, to pronounce it finished, life
surrendered because some things are
            meant to die.

But surely things are always meant
to reach for life, to look up and imagine a
             tolerable day

in England’s countryside and say it is
enough. Oh, Virginia, how I know it is
            not enough.

I look out across perfect gardens designed
to fool us into believing order without equals
            peace within.

Appointments with doctors and twice daily
doses to treat disorder I have become
            say otherwise.

Beyond the garden is a river whose waters
call to me, and I know I need no rocks to line
            my pockets.