Wednesday, March 9, 2011



When we are grabbed by the cold hands of grief,
We desperately go in search of ways to find relief.
One way for me was to become as busy as a bee,
I would never stop until something to do I could see.
This would ensure that I would be on the go non-stop,
At the end of the day tired, in bed, I would drop.

Nevertheless good rest eluded me many a night,
Reciting Psalm 23 would be one way to put up a fight.
I could hardly wait to see the light of day,
When as a writer I could pour out what I wanted to say.
It has certainly been good therapy for me,
As sad thoughts rushed at me like a raging sea.

An idle mind I could not withstand,
And some persons seemed to understand.
But now I have no choice and must slow down,
It is advice that I can no longer ignore with a frown.
I have no doubt that it will be a huge mistake,
If I don't face reality that it is for my own good sake.
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