No Ease

and ease becomes
a grating thing as if its
softnesses had
never  been did
not exist and all becomes
abrasive and
cared handling - the
wobbling on the beam  is
disconcerting as I
strive for balance strive
to live a life of
silence and no ease - my
knees are out of shape
my pelvis will not
bend, my ankle stiffens
past its joints to
stand and my
leg is withered like
a rotten harvest
in a field, lost and
forgotten near the
village where the
people used to live but,
congealed in hardship,
left, to find a
brighter care

previous poem