Healer

I lay wounded
alone and hurting
sore, scared, and scarred
a prison cell or hospital bed
so cold, noisy, impersonal and cruel

when silence comes it brings cold peace
and sleep taunts from her cobwebbed corner
I ache and cry, alone again, alone
with regret and remorse's price
paidin pain

and there in the stillness
your voice drips down to me
honeyed balm to a wounded heart
saying all the right things
in all the right ways
and melting truth in
every golden
sweet word

Waking

like the sky of spring
too bright and aching
pulling up clouds for covers
let the rain fall
and ease me back
to our bed
to curl into your arms
and wait in sleep
like a new leaf
unready to unfurl

Another Late Night

...and no sign of the end of the road, the narrowing tunnel, the broadening expanse of the dreamlands call. You are so wrapped up in the cocoon of your own changes that you can't see out, stretch out to share an arm and shoulder to cry (havoc) upon.

I cannot need you so much, who have so little to offer in trade.

Trapped in the patterns, in the road travelled too well, and the ruts too deep to lift a crippled foot free.

I saw an old horse yesterday, heavy and lethargic and hurting. His knee looked like mine, his leg misshapen by pain and lack of use. If I was a horse, I'd have had me put down ages ago. What hope of a life without movement, freedom?