From the recuperating room


From the recuperating room.

 

 

Not words of lament

It is of imagination a filament,

 

Even the mighty Oak

Needs the sun to soak,

 

Every man’s foe

Is a mind of woe,

 

It is to this effect

That the illness affect,

 

Time to rise

Hence need to prise,

 

From a word of muse

I like to choose,

 

Not a heart wry

Nor the need to cry.


A HIATUS

 

 

Silence deep

Uneasy I sleep.

World outside

In a corner I hide.

I hear child talk

Not always a bright folk.

Body heeds to food

Mind seems to brood.

Casual words sting hurt

Kindness brings vast might.

I wish for truthful perception

Not callous deception.