How can I convey to you the heaviness of my heart?
I’m sure you’ve felt it, experienced the physical weight of sadness.
That sudden drop which suspends inside.
Lead within the quasi-weightlessness of water.
Water, wrapped in flesh, encased in a mind that cannot lift the eyes to see the horizon.
Just take the moment of temporary lightness, the mire of reality is unfair.
No one can help me, so I look to the earth for inspiration
I look to words for hope
I look to art for some sign of sympathy.
The earth has become paved over with concrete without thought to next week.
The words are glossed over by Freudian overtones that mankind craves.
Art has become not the object but the person who renders nothing but style.
What do I tell my children? What do I tell my aging parents, honest in that they do not envy me?
How do I keep from mourning the family given and then taken?
The lessons have stopped and I am now atop the tiny dynasty learning faith.
And even that the world insists gets in the way.