#9 healing poetry; heal.heal.heal.

My head is splitting,
and I can feel the two halves
as I sit here drenched in imaginary water.
It rises up around me,
and seems to sing –


I focus on my mind,
Just for a second, but,
it’s too busy.
I think it’s a little like a market,
just stuck inside my skull.
Instead of spilling onto cobblestone alleyways,
in old European cities,
that maybe,
should have died long ago.


I keep chanting it,
until I can see the split –
not just feel it –


Strange as it seems,
my thoughts don’t fade,
instead they sort of numb out.
Something more interesting,
begins to play out.

The split starts to fold and warp –
but just for a moment before –
leaves and branches sprout.
The trees that begin to grow in my mind,
slowly shut down,
any sense of anything less than wonder
about my body and,
of course,
my mind.

The leaves are Autumn colours,
then they shift to green,
and back again.
They’re healing me.
The split has never been a chasm.

It has only ever been,
a flowerbed,
a forest-bed,
for hope –
and –

To heal. heal. heal.

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