How do you keep
from weeping
at the break of
an eagle’s wing?
Where does your
compass take you
when the wretched
bring you grief?
Why would the
howling cease
when nature is
bowdlerized?
What can you do
when power remains
remote to a
people ignored?
Let me be your port
when the sea responds
with waves miles high –
sail your troubles
into my arms,
and I will hug
and keep you
safely at my side.
I will be your anchor
when you need to ground
your sorrows deep –
the sand between my
toes will keep
away the ghosts –
letting you grieve
in peace.
Anne's mediocre poetry 