As human beings, we sometimes seek to fix what is wrong with our past
Our childhood, our wives our husband, children, jobs and more.
But, it is a secret mending of death, debt, divorced, loneliness and illness.
So, we reach into our 'Emotional Fix It Kit, ' out comes comes food but
our body can not bear its weight.
First, cigarettes but they don't do as much as the wars, deaths, burnings
and nightmares due to them continue.
Accordingly, alcohol and drugs are sought but we must stay under their despotic,
cruel rule to make change occur and we suffer twin with faux freedom from
our dilemma(s) .
Then, deep at the bottom of that tackle box of cures covered by fishing barbs
Exacto knives, wire and sharp objects that poke, cut and make us bleed is
suicide. But, if we select this from the kit, we never know whether we have
succeeded in curing the animalistic pain or not. We may still take it with us
to another realm.
We keep poking and searching through cancer, unemployment, foster care,
child abuse, trying to stop the pain.
And, all the while as we delve in that ineffective 'kit', experience more and more,
all the while, there is God standing there right beside us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem