Years ago I got a picture from Zita that was of a broken ship on a stormy sea and there were a few men hanging on the the timber still floating. It was a Russian Print. I loved that one. And I still wish to see the original someday. This picture reminds me of the print, and the poem I just wrote helps deliver the thoughts that live in me. Some how enjoy the pics just isn't apprapo, but here you go.
In this time of belief we hear the pain
We see the reports of those that have died
Do you feel the true pain or block it and hide
How does one know the way to go through the process
I don't want to really see the want and feel the hurt
I want to say that I am sorry for those who are suffering
and ask people to know I can relate
But can I really relate
Can I really say that I am in it with them
No. Not really. Does that make me cold or wrong?
I am deadened to truth and surrealistic about the horror
I have put up my walls and don't want to expose myself
I am an island that is still afloat at this time
Do not carry burdens to me that I cannot bare
I will help those I can in ways I can
But God bless those who cannot hide
and God bless those who will not lie.
For I am neither and I am both
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