Lori Clayton Shamock

Poetic Therapy

I've discovered a wealth of comfort in writing poetry,
As well as an enriching source of mental therapy.
Snakes of depression emanate from their ugly cage,
When my thoughts are funneled out onto an empty page. Frustrations ripe for extraction from my weary mind,
Vanish rapidly, empowering the ability to unwind.
Oblivious to troubles, I'm content albeit brief,
Even a momentary session can offer sweet relief. Self-expression exudes calming magic, a tranquilizer treat,
My "idea ship" floats as if into an out-of-body retreat.
Time is clouded by a nebula, an aura round my brain,
So engrossed am I that all else of this world is inane. Serene in my invisible sanctum, I'm protected against worry,
Ultimately there are never deadlines inducing me to hurry.
It matters not one iota if the words fall into rhyme,
Until now I've found no better way to utilize spare time.

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 2, 2003

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Read poems about / on: depression, poetry, magic, time, world, snake