How can I describe this feeling to want,
this need to hold and to console?
Depression it is not,
perhaps it borders there.
So many I must help,
but they labor so far distant.
Oh, that I could be with them
to embrace and console.
My spirit flitters hither and thither
crying for their calming.
Anxiety cruelly tugs from the edges,
hoping to pull me to another plane.
Am I so different,
that my thoughts defy my very existence?
Could it be that I crave that very love
I so desperately want to give?
Copyright 2006 by Cindi Jones RSS and Atom feeds allowed. All other use by permission only.