A harsh flash of lightning gashing the nuts,
burning like army ants through the groin,
slashing with a jagged blade in the gut
after slicing up my intense loin.
A brutal battalion attacks my head
shouting aspirin will never relieve
the wild hound’s growling gnaw. And how I dread
those howling sirens refusing to leave
my moss-plugged ears. For longer than a year
now I’ve suffered this persistent pattern
of selfish longing and deep-seated fear
tempered by the one feeling that matters:
gratitude rising from prayer; your spirit’s
essence seems to appear while I’m kneeling,
asking for your happiness and healing.
Roger Armbrust
January 19, 2012
