What All We Do

If I wait to take my medicine, I can write a lot of poems before I start having seizures. I have about another hour before things start to get really bad, so I’m taking advantage of it for now. I was trying to post 48 new pieces in 24 hours; I couldn’t tell you why. It’s 8:13 AM as I write this, and I am in a hotel room with a day’s drive ahead of me.

Why we do what all we do,
I’m not sure and nor are you.

Climates change and tempers vary,
All of it seems arbitrary;

Some connection happens freely,
Most of us are frightened, really.

Couplets drone in empty sounding,
Hearts that hearken to keep pounding.

Why we do what all we do?
I don’t know, and nor

Do you

Cold Rain

The rain speaks to me.

I hear the voices in the rain
From some lost way that leads to pain –
A hellish choir of doomed regret
And choices that will come bad yet

For after all the lies are told
The soul is either bought or sold;
I’ve nothing now to seek or gain
And I am one with cold
And rain

Her Ride

The things she tries to hide.

She’s always tried to hide her feelings
Even from herself
But found her disappointment bleeding through

For somehow, to be genuine
She had to be set free
From what she always thought she ought to do

She isn’t really frail, but she
Carries some fragile baggage
Stowed up on a shelf she thinks is hid

From public view, but it is not;
For all who are close can see it
Her fear for all the things
She never
Did