Dark Corners

I hooked strong cables

Onto my sorrow

Slowly took up the slack

And gave the task

All the power I had

And maybe a little more.

Stay clear of cables

Under such stress

Lest they snap

And draw their pay

In bits of flesh

And oily red blood.

Any fool can tell you

In mocking laughter

That sorrow cannot be

So simply excised.

The job requires more

Than man has yet contrived.

So I sit on the stump

Of an old sycamore tree

And contemplate

What may move such sorrow

Whether by horsepower

Or blast.

Three little white pills

And one larger blue one

Defers the pain

Long enough

To allow the sun to slip

Below the horizon.

This warfare with sorrow

Can wait one more day

And maybe another.

Night is coming

And sorrow is content to peer from

The dark corners of my heart.