Journey Interrupted

I keep myself from thinking about her

Busy with my hands, the touch of things,

The tactile universe above, beneath,

And the passing joy of solitary Springs.

The soil, my mother, filters through my hands,

The daffodils and fragrant peonies

Resplendent in a deep cerulean sky,

All the earth is vibrant yet at ease.

If I do not work the mind takes me down,

Down into the caverns of the night,

At times it is almost folly to resist,

But one must stand and face the foe and fight.

A journey interrupted by the past

So many lives compressed into an hour

Or the second when the choice is to be made,

The abyss or truth's divine redeeming power.