How Do You Fight Off Despair? (a poem)

How to fight off despair?
The walls closed in, chaos, claustrophobia
Mean eyes everywhere I look
There must be some melted hearts out there
Amid the hatred and relentless despair

Hate in hearts can be broken with love
Like nestling into a sweetheart’s arms
Under cool moonlit nights
Away from infinite news cycles and images
Of society tearing, tearing apart
But how to fight off despair?

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Crushed (a poem)

Inside your spring blossom
The heart is locked away
Caged up like the songbird
Inside these insidious walls

That far-away gaze tells me
So much about your broken spirit
The night you swallowed the pills
The screaming and crying

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New World (Part 6) – A Poetry Journal

2-16-22 – 9:52 a.m.

A dog barking in the distance in the middle of the night. A creaky door opening and closing. Soft, cold wind. A dark, moonless sky. Up in the twilight hours, this is what nightmares are made of. Calm before a storm. Before the attack, always imagined but never happens. Make sure all the doors are locked. I’m home alone and, though my mental health is good, fear runs below the surface.

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New World (Part 4) – A Poetry Journal

2-9-22 – 10:31 a.m.

Time is the enemy. I feel myself decaying. Too much coffee. We’re pretty much unpacked from our move. The neighbors on this street are very private. I wonder what they do behind closed doors. Probably nothing sinister. Probably just watching TV and glued to a screen like the rest of us.

My job requires me to read the news closely. This is a blessing and a curse. I did it anyway, for the most part. The media is a fear machine. Everything is hyped; everything is ‘the worst ever.’ I know this because I work in media. My uncle is like many Americans. He’s caught in the web of tribal hatreds.

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Daily Quote: A Measure of Darkness

“There are as many nights as days, and the one is just as long as the other in the year’s course. Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word ‘happy’ would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.” – Carl Gustav Jung

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Ghosts Have a Way of Following (a poem)

There’s nothing unique about the way
We fled the ghosts in younger days

You carried the trauma like me
Deep in rusted bones
But we could never escape
You knew as well as I did

Ghosts have a way of following
Ethereal, stubborn spirits
We never outrun our pasts
Though we think we can

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