In this my idle obsession
Where all my depression
Wanders its way
Seeking the shadows
To suppress its shape
And hide its terrors
From trespasser’s errors
But wandering eyes
May yet it surprise
Though grand its disguise
Can’t cover its lies
For fear may yet scare
One out of despair
If cornered out
Into the open air
In time may come to rest at last
Yet, gentle the touch of healing hands
Must comfort and coax it
Through the shifting sands
For time is a rough
Wave of contention
That carries us on
Its careless suspension
-Joshua Lee Foist
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