A Shadow On My Shoulder

-by Brenda Penepent

There’s a shadow on my shoulder
That steals parts of my soul;
Bit by bit it takes my energy.
Never leaving me alone.
Oh, at first I tried to fight it.
I resisted it for years
Until the emptiness inside me
drove me crazy with my fears.
At times, I have embraced it;
For the comfort of my grief
Had become so familiar
I could not envision a release.
Like a cloud of empty promises
It covers me in gray.
Numbing me with sadness.
Draining color from my day.
The shadow of depression
Lurks dark upon my soul.
My wall of pain is standing tall
While I shiver in the cold.

When A Loved One Dies

-by Leon Knight

Poetry is the process
of cleansing my wound,
the tweezers
for removing
grains of sand
inbedded in my skin.

Poetry is antiseptic
painfully applied
before the wound festers
salve rubbed in
fear of infection.

Poetry is the stiching clamp
held between my teeth,
the pain killer
so I can sleep.

Poetry is acceptance
of future scars,
and aches on foggy nights.

Poetry is a way of surviving
when a loved one dies.