Wants

what is this wanting;

my pleasures are simple:
a good book,
a mug of steaming tea,
a blank page and a good pen,
a quiet walk in the sun,
an ocean to soothe my soul,
family;

I have all these -
and so much more -
at my fingertips,
so what is this unrest;

it is as though
I want something more
from the world,
it has nothing more to give;

what is it I want from myself,
what hollow desire
keeps me searching
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Relief

pain written
in lines
upon the face,

brought to life
with the lash
of a word,

know the stinging tongue
is not meant for you,

its cause unknown
to those without -

we are not the only ones
haunted by demons -

though we might offer respite,
we have our own burdens to bear

we walk alone together,
each carrying our own experience
of the world's hurts,

this is the relief
we have to offer
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