Smile Poem by Tim Carlson

We all feel alone some days,
fretted with anger and emptiness.
What am I but this thing?
a victim of consequence.
Anywhere but here I sit, singing the lament
of Eurydice.
A glance then dust.
The controlled hooped cadence
Spitted rain against the rock, wheel spinning thread
Cut with silver handled scissors.

His golden soul perched, her neglected down pour of age and weariness,
sings sweet sorrowful music, caressing the wrist that holds the dove.

Frozen fire shows its heart, severe intellect with a clean new self.