yes, my torment has gone <br />and, more remarkable <br />i seem unharmed <br />the machine of flesh and blood <br />still stands the demons cast off <br />as naturally as a winter's overcoat <br />in spring <br /> <br />suffering has gone <br />much as a boarder <br />comes to stay for a while <br />then leaves <br />the vacant room <br />speaks In echoes <br />holding the occasion <br /> <br />in its emptiness <br /> <br />strange <br />but this momentous time <br />feels quite ordinary <br /> <br />there is no dialogue <br />no musical score <br />no cast save me <br />and if I could express <br />my feeling visually <br />it would be <br />to see a woman <br />walking on a moor <br />her face sun-kissed <br /> her expression calm - <br />wild grasses parting <br />under her bare feet <br />the bruised flatness <br />showing her presence <br /> the air suffused <br />with the scent <br />of opening clover <br /> <br />Her shadow falls behind <br />but she does not turn <br />to court uncertainty <br />instead she hugs herself <br />wrapped warmly <br />In a shawl of safety <br />with no memory of pain <br />she treads the landscape <br />of exhilharation <br />radiantly <br /> <br />There is no script, no sponsor here <br />no commericial enterprise <br />the actor gleans no fees - <br />a documentary in fact<br /><br />Philippa Lane<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/simplificatiion-recovery-from-cyclic-depression/
