Poems from Trying Years - Pocket Full Of Pills

People weren't made with pills in their pockets.

Pockets are just pockets and won't hold my 'cure'. 

There are obstacles on this path I was meant to endure

Insanity is every sane man's curiosity and denial. 

Denial is every mans lie to himself. 

Being human is accepting these lows and highs, 

the sewage and skies, 

of the heart, 

on the pages, 

in the corner, 

on the wall. 

Art is the prayer to explain it all; 

to relieve that pressure from the soul.

Oh please relieve that pressure from the soul.

And so be it. 

We are human. 

We are pressured. 

We spill. 

We are tempted. 

We are vessels just aching to fill. 

But we aren't made with pockets even if we're born ill. 

We are given the gift of discovery 

from the moment we leave the womb,

and that's all we take on our journey to the tomb.

So I face this bottle of promises

and watch its contents swirling down

with only my hands in my pockets 

as I try not to look down.