Troubled minds.

The silence of the brain,

full of ideas and stories,

struggling to connect,

as bits and pieces,

slowly cover the screen,

with tumbling words

of little significance,

and one wonders;

where have all the

heat of creation gone,

why should it disappear

in such troubled times,

with the world ailing

and bombs being thrown,

around like toys,

and then I think of you,

and see the dark

canopy of our tree,

and whistle a lullaby,

happy that in my little world

things are good!