The mixed state is harsh, confusing,
A bane on my stability.
Part of me is sad, another part angry,
Two sides of the same hurt
Bleeding from a common source.
The mind races through jumbled thoughts,
Frantic depression, zen without peace.
Irritation sets in, the way a partly cloudy day
With intermittent sun tortures the skin,
Alternating randomly, unpredictable,
A constant annoyance.
If the weather can't decide how to feel,
You can't expect the spirit to either.
Thursday, June 26, 2003
Zen Without Peace
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