On a paper towel
When the shock wears off
the bouts of sad are fewer and farther between
you begin to realize you are alone
it is likely to be that way for the foreseeable future
when you split the blanket it is
so much more than the partitioning of stuff and belongings
or even who is the primary conservator of the children's welfare
it is that you must recollect yourself
pick-up from the murky mire move on
find some worthwhile tasks you can simply occupy your time with
Somewhere down the road I’ll feel like myself again
despite the fact that they tell me I sound more like me than anytime
in the last decade
something is missing and amiss
I am not he who was before and I am not sure I want to be
I would feel a little better if the me I am now is ok with everybody else
even if I am not sure who that is
Music#1
The strings do not know words
They know not the limitations of
Language culture or time
Notes are universal, rhythm is inherent
Music is born into us
As much as our color of hair or skin
Even if we have no talent, no skill
Music touches us and the ear that hears
A soul that is stirred
By the sounds of string and wind
The skin of a drum
Is not enslaved by words
Even if a mind cannot grasp a song in a language not my own
My heart, mind and soul
Can nonetheless be touched by the presence of music
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