Low Moments

Were tears a flute playing sad tunes,
my eyes would be the masters hand

Were fears a futile play of sweet song,
my hands would be reeds against wind

Were cares a feeling of great guilt,
my heart would be a caged bird

Were dares a repeat of failure,
my mind would be a bootstrap

Were scares a fling of terrified emotions,
my skin would be horrifying music

Were prayers a fruitless attempt at faith,
my mouth would be a fallen saint.

"These poems especially speak to a number of related...