Again, Great Breather, you’ve silenced morbid
quarrels in my mind, quelling my brutal
committee’s condemnations, laid torpid
those bitter, slashing tongues despising all
I am. Slugging shots and popping pills may
numb harsh slurs for a moment. Hazy smoke
can glaze their eyes and make them dumb for, say,
half a day. Yet soon I wake to brash pokes
from their scepters, lie shaking, awaiting
earthquakes of their lies. Then feel my lost soul
scream above them, sense despair abating
through my simple prayer: Help…me. They cajole
me, changing tactics. Then their spotlights fade.
I meditate within your peaceful shade.
Roger Armbrust
May 20, 2010
