Pisaries Creator

Your feet hurt,

keep going, walk on, forget the pain,

it’s okay, inhale the stress, break your arm,

stub your knee, make noise, yell as loud as you can,

your life sucks right now, we all know.

As all the other feet,

cut off from the ankles, forced to walk with help,

it’s going to be okay, exhale the smoke, don’t feel faint,

you’re almost there, the ribbon on the finish line,

maybe not, it keeps moving, continue.

I believe you’re lost,

your toes scattered, branches moving,

embracing tired arms, repeated disasters,

feel it, know it, think about it all hours of the day,

It should be okay,

The gift arrives on time,

sharply at ten, latest at one, so happy,

breathe a sigh of relief, another kind of medicine,

the one to help, to comfort,

make us feel better,

to inscribe safe on your forehead.

No matter what others say,

your footless body, with hardly moving hands,

the best is tomorrow, the worst is yesterday,

can’t be repeated, not the needy fire,

not the burning souls, not the dropping ashes,

nor the dead fish in the tank,

water is constant like death.