Open your mouth, let words
bypass lips. Converse consciously
to brethren or bystanders.
Reach out to
close friends gone amiss.
Be not afraid, not now, of
articulating current thoughts and
accomplishments of which
you are proud, and even your sins
(for we have all owned a few)
might seem far less tragic
from an altered point of view.
Give fresh voice
to insecurities and anxieties hidden
within your self, speak highly of
those dusty dreams
languishing on a shelf.
Past sullen moments cast a
lengthy shadow, short-term
expectations tend to dull down
long-term possibilities.
Talk freely around all you want,
or hope, or desire to be.
Each intention will resonate
with those who wholly believe.
Understanding takes effort.
© 2024 j.g. lewis
April 18th is Poem in Your Pocket Day
a day to celebrate poetry by selecting a poem,
carrying it in your pocket, and sharing with the
friends and strangers who cross your path.
Share a poem wherever the day takes you, as you
would share a smile, a gesture, or your kindness.
Sharing is caring.
April is Poetry Month
take a poem to lunch
2 replies on “Sadness, grief, fear, and anger”
I am in such total agreement. Because of the continued hate that seems to be spewing forth like a broken fire hydrant, I’m finding it harder and harder to pay any attention to the news, feeling like if I do, I’m actually feeding the hate, giving it credence. I just do not understand at all. It feels like mankind is a ruptured and oozing boil, spreading its infectious ugliness to all. I always appreciate your comments though I’m not sure how it helps our sick, sick society. We who read you are already aware of the problem; those who are the problem close the book, slam the door, against any suggestion that their beliefs are morally and ethically wrong. I too am saddened, grief stricken, and angry — and feeling so helpless other than to try to love and care and respect everyone that I meet, hoping that the lack of confrontation is enough to destroy their hateful beliefs. Dunno. Dunno. But thank you, every day, for your thoughts.
It’s all too much. Every day there is more. It hurts.
I write to let it out and, at times, it won’t flow.
We all need to keep trying. Thank you for coming.
deep peave