We were lying prone and sleeping
In a bed that wasn’t ours
The fog that had encircled us
Hid us from the stars
I’m not one to think out loud
Neither do I drink it proud
But never should you confuse this
With any of your unearned bliss
Chances are my thoughts aren’t deep
Lying crying while you sleep
So shallow laid you in my palm
Enticing stupor renouncing calm
Had I gathered all your kisses
Collected tears, called you Mrs.
You would still be gone you see
While I’m right here alone with me
I still know that you were real
And hope that you have learned to feel
The pain you poured so thoughtlessly
Inside a man you’d set to sea
Death and dying will encroach
Us left upon this orbits brooch
When I assign my life it’s meaning
Ours won’t have been worth repeating
When I look back on our mistake
I’ll be relieved that all it takes
Is soft and sunny love repaired
By one that never used my cares
Anger grows from fear. And from despair and loneliness and feeling unnoticed and unloved.It feeds on itself and flourishes in the dark. The antidote is light and love and attention and intention. Some bet on the inevitability of anger turning to hate. They short the market and prosper on hate’s seeming inevitability. They seek profit in its viral growth.They guard against the light to keep the ground fertile. They tell the angry that hate is the medicine for the pain caused by the weight of anger. They are modern day snake oil salesman, only worse. They trade in souls. Hate only breeds hate, especially when quarantined. Hate can relieve the pain of anger for a moment, perhaps, and unburden you by letting it out, but it returns heavier than before. Hate hides from light. Fear is angers predecessor. Fear is the root and it holds steady throughout.
developing dad 