BROODING

Most of us are not immune to brooding —

when one feels that there’s no hope intruding

and the sky looks dark despite the sun.

Whatever blessed one seems forever done.

 

Though one might try  to move his thoughts away

from sadness, he’s helpless to control his day

and it unfolds as if he were a hostage

to the bleakness he can hardly manage.

 

When the brooding  wilts, or how it does

is often mysterious.  One wonders why it was

and isn’t any more.  Perhaps a prayer —

perhaps attention  by a friend who cared.

 

Are there those who never entertain

the gloom — who think of sunshine — never rain?

This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply