Once she saw
The abuse
In the abuser
The anger rose
Fire in her veins
Pooled, glowing
As if lava flowed
Like liquid rage
Just below
The surface
Of her flesh
I call for it
In times of need
Or if too dark
It calls on me
It guides me true
Though rarely easy
But I know my path
When e’er I follow
My golden heart
We roll on through
With singing tires
On bitumen
Both dreaming of
This singing land
But it was not until
I met the Buddha on the road
That I began to heal
No trust
No love
Wry or pained, OK
Irony works
It can lead to a chuckle
In a chuckle
There is often a laugh
And in a laugh, sometimes a guffaw
I prefer the rise and fall
The twist and turn
Cliche they are
But how I learn
Only under such conditions
Can the light of both ideas
Converge upon unexplored ground
Where it often illuminates
An insight better than either idea
Pix to Words 