I used to dream I’d gone back to
The mental institution
I lived in for six months when I
Was in my darkest days
The halls, I still remember, but
The rooms fade into memory;
As I would shuffle up and down
Its limited pathways
Me being me, I spent my time
Falling in love with nurses,
And counselors and social workers
Who all tried their best
To help me get someplace where I
Would want to go on living;
Instead of where I’d been, which was
The middle of depressed
I’m grateful to those people, though
I doubt they much remember
Some patient who would play piano
Hours of the day
And yet, I’ve never thought
That there’s no way I could go back there:
I am the same guy underneath
Constructed the same way
And so I don’t look back within
Some privileged position:
The many things that make us fragile –
These are always here
But I view with compassion
All the many who are struggling
To push away the emptiness
They can’t make disappear
And ask, if you are one of those,
Remember, just remember,
That every loving thing is born
Within
A world
Of fear
Wow. That got me. And it made me think of what a gentle and sensitive soul you are that you would share so much of yourself with us every day. You are something else.
Thank you, Elle. You’re very sweet to me.
I couldn’t sleep last night, so I got up and wrote like twenty things. I ended with this piece, because my mind was racing and ended up, somehow, back at that place. Then I took a shower and went to work.
I really appreciate your kind words. – Owen
I think you’re very sweet to me, Owen. You give me lots to think about…you put words together in ways I can only dream of. You have a gift and an open heart. That’s a special combination. And that’s not being sweet.
Thank you, Elle.
Stunning poem Owen
And thank you 🙂 I needed that reminder
Sounds a bit like me actually.
I’m always surprised to find out how many people have had this experience. But I shouldn’t be, I guess. It’s just part of who we are.
I’m just a basket-case most of the time.
Right back atcha, Mer. You have inspired me, often.
Beautiful, Owen.
Thanks, Rita. Hope things are well with you.
You’re welcome. Life is good and the fight continues.
So clear and honest. Thank you for sharing this with us.
Thank you. It’s not my favorite subject to revisit.