Prose, Narratives, Etcetera, Can Carry Healing. Poetry

So The Self Under The Eye Lies, Attendant And Withdrawn.

There Is No Better Way To Know Us Than As Two Wolves, Come Separately To A Wood.

What Happened Casually Remains -

Nobody Wanted Your Dance, Nobody Wanted Your Strange Glitter, Your Floundering Drowning Life And Your Effort To Save Yourself, Treading Water, Dancing The Dark Turmoil, Looking For Something To Give.

The Shell The Sea Fills My Ear With Sand And With Fear. You May Wash Out The Sand, But Never The Sound Of The Ghost Of The Sea That Is Haunting Me.