I have made company to pain,
In my loneliness.
A communion of geography,
And more engaging than a
Hot summer flick or fling.
Who can blame me?
Popular culture a dizzy of sensational drama.
Our cave man mind gorges
This engagement, is it sick?
This loving hate entertainment.
My own grand opus:
This soap opera washes my mouth-
Bitter after taste.
I want away, I am
Terrified of worse.
I appease and mediate and give
Too much, too little.
Yet a life away seems so boring.
Contentment so boring.
The cycle so same
How do I make a minuet of these
Little things, little things, little things?
I haven’t the energy for distraction
Not the luxury of distraction.
My little warmth
My little pain
Aren’t they one and the same?
What do I choose.
It is an effort to walk one way
And not the other.
Listen to sensation and not be consumed.
I must let go of guilt.
It is the third arrow.
I may be wrong,
I will not feel bad of my wrongness.
Let go of the second arrow.
I may hurt: I will not hurt for my hurt.
I will let go my fear.
I will not exhaust precious energy to dodge and defend the
Everlasting dodge ball.
Hurt will comes as it will. As does
Happiness, cheer, sadness, and fear.
Can I tend to flowers
Let out what I do not care for.
Flowers need care day after day.
Amongst Daisy and Posy
Suffering grows in vitality of a garden.
And once I will lay down and flower.
Will I visit my soap opera
My piece of reality
It is as it is and it is mine?