Image, music and text by Rick McVicar
A brain fog follows after a fall
Into a dismal drum of oily depression
That sticks and clings to my shoulders
Like a dirty wet T-shirt
Full of gravel and mud
That clings to my chest with firm adhesive.
Yet I pull my lips up into a smile
Trying to chase away an ill omen,
Pondering forces of nature beyond my control.
Surprisingly, sometimes the forced smile works
To push up grass through slabs of concrete.
Sometimes hope comes from people I meet
Other times it comes from a strong belief
In a power that creates the universe
And with it possibilities for healing and peace.
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