Healing


Shards of brittle disappointment
cascade toward cavernous asylum
deep beneath judgment’s layers
where pain holds court,
its faceless clock
forever ticking off endless lessons.

Such is the place where memory’s tenacious tentacles
conduct ghost-like stringed adagios,
ushering in more encores of achievement,
raising the glint of sharpened knives to their feet
over and over.

Life’s performance loves its bows,
yet retreats behind the curtain of ethereal fog,
descends back to its pattern of shifting waves
forever challenging strength’s tenacity,
rehearsing another movement of timpani clash,
perfecting further its heavy-laden purpose,
urging its audience to embrace the upcoming purge,
even as only a few allow a teardrop to begin
the long process of healing.

Such becomes the final movement of acquiring peace,
a whispered diminuendo where healing becomes silence.