Discombobulation
Unseen is the dark sky midst the pitch darkness. Owls howl-hoot.
Vampire bats fly around. I sit, staring at the red moon.
What has happened to me? What brute has made my lute mute?
I'm mortified. Am I going to be crucified soon?
Anxiety, like charring wildfire, within me blazes.
Depression, like termites, is eating up my cells and veins.
Strains, like storms and gales, erase my inner spaces.
Why is this insomnia? Why are these brain fogs and pains?
I should get out of these, I thought. I should choose life, not death.
How merry are these birds, bees, butterflies, leaves, and flowers?
How, the divine, in each creature, like the breeze, spread its breath?
How could I ignore the blossoming of the cosmic powers?
Optimism, like clear streams, should flow within me flawlessly.
I should nourish the noble nurture of nature noiselessly.
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