My Cure

My Cure

As I wake
anxiety hits me
in the face.

There is no therapy.
There is no escape.
There is no vacation,
quiet and serene
no gentle rush of waves
to keep me company.

is the stuff of dreams
and reality
is all I have.

Yet I do what I can
with what I have;
we all
do our best,
knowing what we do
and not
what we don’t.

I work the frame —
write and read
ideate and talk
even a little exercise
here and there
a little reflection.

Anxious as I am,
I have discovered a cure
my breath heals me
as I tread the forest path
slowly, slowly
the Universe shows me
its infinite love —
wind in the trees
a soft rush
of nearby water
barely heard
a timid doe
I see in the distance
far away
yet so far away.

Thanks to Mirza Hatipovic for the inspiration.

Posted by John Onorato in Poetry, 0 comments