The Soul Is Sick Poem by RIC BASTASA

It is sometimes like releasing bees from our hands
since we bite sometimes

and the people who are listening scatter like children
in fear and trembling bitten

and they come back with their injuries now looking
for you

and talking becomes war where the talkers become
all victims

but talking can sometimes turn into prayers when we
begin talking to someone invisible but whom we trust

and those who see us have only empathy why now
i talk only to myself after releasing all those terrible bees

i understand it somehow, this need for an elocution
since the soul is sick and badly it needs the balm of

words, a dressing of prayers
and more time for waiting so that the healing may complete itself
in that litany of confessions.