I’m apparently not a carpenter, because I can’t seem to cope.

Where inside oneself does one look to find the cure for despondency and wretchedness?

When one is mentally sound, which is, of course, a good thing,
but that is the problem, ‘cause the whole world’s gone quite mad,
and there’s nought one can do to change even one’s own small part of it…

How is one supposed to cope, to stop thinking, to sleep?

How does one keep the tension from building up in one’s sinews, forming knots as hard as diamonds?

Is there a method to keep from running around,
hair a bird’s nest, with dead bouquets like a distraught Ophelia?

How does one overcome the gut-cold, sickness of fear for humanity, the world;
continue to get through the insanity of today’s daily life?

Are we now so so devoid of reason, compassion, empathy, insight, conscious thought
that the only hope of Light at the end of the tunnel is being wiped out quickly by the oncoming trainwreck?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 13 July 2018