Frustrated Sorceress

She sees a broken world & wants to mend it she wants bombs & hate & hunger, & sorrow to stop at her command as if the world were hers she sees broken lives around her & wants to heal them because in some small way she has made them hers She sees me, sitting on my wall of pain, with head in hand & she wants to wave a wand filled with her magic & make my wall crumble I weaved a web of sorrow told her to just to look, to study like the scholar she is instead, she marched in & found herself entangled I stood beside her, as we contemplated mountains hoping she could see how small she is the only lesson that she learned was, mountains are made for climbing She does not see the steady tiny bandages her gentle healing hands laid on the broken world and broken lives to make them stronger She doesn't see pain & war & hunger & sorrow won't go away at her command but with the touch of her hand some suffering is diminished She doesn't see that, though I'm still broken, she's tangled me in a web of hope.I don't like this; it doesn't do justice to the subject. I think there are parts of this mess that I could put together into a good poem. What do you think? I feel frustrated that I can't make this work. (I don't like the title either. Any suggestions?) Written December 18th, 2001 © on Dec 18 2001 04:59 AM PST   10 • 0