On The Mend (Poetry)

I’ve been to the land of Not-so-well
where night melts into day
and sleep steals soft those afternoons —
lost hours drift away.

The weeks fade into one long dream —
a jumbled narrative
that makes no sense and seems at best
a wasteful way to live —

spending time in some odd place
where logic has no sway
the body loiters with no mind
but spirit dreads to stay

and begs release — wants mundane things —
the way life was before
imagination’s thief snuck in
through fate’s ill-fitting door.

An exorcism’s overdue —
good health must be restored —
long absence is the one expense
that reason can’t afford.

I’ve wandered vague for much too long —
now pen to paper goes
and spells a rhyme for sanity —
lines up a cure for woes.

Words set me loose upon the page
to correspond at will
with other voices in my head
that heckle me until

I let them say what’s on my mind —
indulge them and pretend
to listen as I make a note —
I think I’m on the mend.