A Winter House

My dream is wilderness,
Solitude, complete aloneness.

Space to create, to write,
Draw, throw clay pots…
A space to heal and
To be allowed to cry, scream,
rage as I heal.

“Civilized” society can’t tolerate
Real healing expression
Of that I am convinced.

We punish it, medicate it,
Get it out of our sight yet
the very lack of tolerance for
Healing expression
may be in part why we are sick.

Please put me in the middle of
Nowhere with survival means –
I’m not trying to forage or kill-

Just to not have to speak or listen
For a time – just a matter of months
Would be oh so sweet! World leave me be!

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