The mobile of our lives has been touched by the hand of circumstance and as I see the separate pieces bobbling and turning erraticly,

I look inward for a way to bring it back into balance.

I see the form of chaos and I stand facing it numb.

what do all these events mean to me? what answer awaits the piecing of this perplexling puzzle? what are my options?

I cannot back out gracefully, like a dove, holding a twig in my mouth. As a stale, bitterness clings with my weariness.

We hold the keys to so much about ourselves and yet finding them and using them can be percived as a inconveniance- porcrastinating our lives into ruts.

No Remorse

The fist beat my head
the foot beat my ribs
the hand pulled my hair
no remorse, no remorse,
no remorse.

Don't show me tenderness
or compassion on the tv
or movies
it sugar coats reality
and it wasn't mine.

Wash the dishes
cook the food
get the welfare check.

Never mind the pain
I know I can get numb soon.
He took something from me,
something beautiful,
and gave me rotten decay in return
no remorse, no remorse
no remorse.

Healing My Broken Spirit.

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Artwork courtesy of and copyright by Danial B. Holeman, who invites you to visit his Visonary Art Gallery web site.

In memory of women everywhere whose lives have been affected by violence.

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