The Doctor Cried

The Doctor cried.

It meant so much 

that he could weep

when somebody died.

He could still feel 

something deep,

something unseen, silently

hurting him inside.

It meant so much to see him weep

because he really tried.

And for every life he could not save -

the Doctor cried.

The Silent Guns

Cannons; old and silent; 

just as they should be,

pointed only at the sky,

for old folks memories.

Or pounded into plowshares,

as foretold in days of yore;

relics of a remedy 

we don't use anymore.

The flashing of exploding shells,

the whistles and the thuds,

have all been replaced by fireworks;

the only tragedies being the duds.

Ah! If dreams were but reality,

and it were up to me?

There'd be no guns pointed at them,

and none pointed back at we!

Photo by Tina Weil Lampropoulos

Discontent

This is the season of my discontent.

Lying in the cold, wondering where the summer went...

Was there not a spring? 

Has Autumn all been spent?

You'll have to grant me pardon now if I seem discontent.

This is the worst of times, when better times have gone,

deserting me and hurting me, leaving me alone.

Did I give offense?

Pray! Say! Tell! what I did so wrong,

to incur the wrath of colder times, when better times have gone?

Spells

I go through spells-

My body screams and moans at times,

at other's  my heart yells-

there's pain in every cell.

I keep no secrets from you,

I go through spells.

I still have dreams-

In which I twist and writhe, until it seems 

that I must die, 

undoubtedly I have arrived at the Gates of Hell.

I can't deny, even to myself,

I go through spells.

But I have hopes-

That someday I'll arise, and when opening my eyes,

painless, blue and sunny skies will greet my days.

Though I say this with conviction, I know the lie I tell.

There's no escaping from it, 

I go through spells.