You are no sonnet

Some hide their sorrow cutting stripes in sour shoulders
Some store problems in drawers pushing all what hurts
with trash in cans while others avoid looking at anything
reminding them of stinging smart


Several drink their dark past away in huge high glasses
on the rocks to be knocked asleep whining. There are the
ones chatting, chuckling and we’ll never catch the
darkness behind their shiny teeth


Though they’ve got wounds and blisters, not yet healed
covered by filthy bandages, layers of leaking patches
broken plaster


When I stand still in stormy presence to think what word
or thought would fit with you, the one dancing around
on grass, in sand


and often barefoot on thin ice as if your fragile heart has
not been damaged by the so often cruel earth, I have no
answer, only hope that time will comfort you


Marion Bloem, jan 2012

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