Learning Pains

From our pains we learn valuable lessons that should be passed on to our children. Writing this poem could only have happened when I allowed myself to listen "with my open ear."

Can I think of things to say

   not breathe and hyperventilate?

How can captured thoughts wring rot

   sinking deeper yet within?

Living on without a thought

   moves my sinking heart by naught.

Thinking hard, a cold sore's wound; 

   praying soft, a soldier's tune.

Standing, thinking, breathing soon -

   listen first but not this room.

Move to where you once could see

   the sunrise clearly teeming seas.

Never moving toward the sound 

   will harbor deep's Profound.

Listen closely to this page:

   read me clearly with your age.

Interpret not these thinks by ink,

   but with great knowledge

                                       ...please think.

Can you see this ink right here?

   It first started

             with my open ear.

Author's Note

Thoughts?