The Chaos of Living

 I retreated to a bookstore today
and found a refuge from the chaos
of living.

Though I went there alone, I was
not by myself, for the books did
whisper and their voices were clear.

There I sat, drinking coffee
and medicating on poetry, as
the world passed by.

And there I found a fellowship
of mentors, whose stories
were not unlike my own.

Robert Frost walked through
The Dismal Swamp, then spent
his life masking a darker side.

Hart Crane, John Berryman,
Ann Sexton and Sylvia Plath
each committed suicide.

Keats was, “Half in love with
easeful death,” while Shelly’s dance
with the reaper cost him his life.

Joseph Brodsky was banished
to the Far North and finally
exiled from Mother Russia.

But, The Soviet’s loss was
was America’s gain; I wish
I could have met him.

Milosz looked upon darkness
and questioned the value
of ornamental poetry.

And there’s the Psalter.
A collection of laments
written by people of faith.

I understand the world is
broken and life’s not easy,
but- must it be so difficult?

-Cameron Dockery