There is a hazy time
when catharsis is therapeutic
but this self-indulgence
is bound to induce stagnation.
When a strong man,
one who is heroically individual,
is swallowed up by fictions
– precluded, altruistic jubilance
over the prize of mystic love
from a good woman, the belief
that, had the dice rolled differently,
he could have been saved
from himself, his consuming misery –
he is truly defeated
and nobody can help him.

Then again it is pleasant
to see the lymph rise
from an old wound
with the pump and vigour
of a youthful heart
too often thought lost.

Picking over our memories
is not time wasted licking
our sores. Reflecting
in the westbound waiting room,
we take pause and attempt
to gather up our resources,
devise foresighted stratagems
to meet all exciting new contingencies,
bid to never again run and hide
from impending calamities
or any vexing mysteries
approaching our lives.


  1. If I inspired this even a little I'd be very pleased - there's so much here, and so much relatable, vital emotion. Splendid.

    I'm also grateful for your comments on my poems, glad you enjoyed them.

  2. I love how you made this poem seem like a old polaroid photos collection - I felt like i was looking at a photo album, summing up imagery, moods, thoughts and emotions.

    Beautifully written.

  3. Man, you wrote this very well, full of statements yet has alot of underlying thoughts line after line. Well written and "there is a hazy time
    when catharsis is therapeutic" my favorite beginning thus far. What is truly great the cutting of line works and you ended well. Thanks for sharing.