Too busy for
That sharp ache,
Somewhere under
This skin’s surface beating,
Far-off,
In some other reality.
Slow my breathing.
Too tired to think
About summer’s sunshine,
Laughing,
And wild grass playing
On a mountainside.
Turn my pillow over.
In the fragrance of a flower,
In the brilliance of the sun rising,
In the teasing notes of music,
Bits of beauty,
Sound-bites gnawing,
Monsters of attachment,
In the shadows of memory.
Without a word,
Or a warning,
The rain is pouring down,
Soaking the ground around me
And somewhere,
Just somewhere,
In my unknowing,
In my unwanting,
It’s okay.
KKLE November 6, 2013
Nov 07, 2013 @ 09:03:11
I’m glad you decided to take some time to pour out this moving poem, Karen. Your poetry is beyond amazing. Thank you so much for the email. It was so lovely to hear from you.
Nov 17, 2013 @ 07:45:00
No, I have to thank you, because your e-mail is what made me want to step out of my manic work load and take a moment to write! 🙂 I love your poetry! Keep writing!