memoirs of a poet

I’m trying not to bother people.
Instead,
I take my sorrows to God.
And, I take my worn eyes to a lake I know.
Among the watery vastness,
The kings of Trees.
I become obsolete, insignificant.
There, I get to be nobody.
The wind whispers to me softly,
taking my fears with it,
Charting them in the grandness of it all.
I tell the Geese of my conflict,
They know of my search for contentment.
They have that same humiliating bite as me,
Barking anger that dissolves to shame.
Like all people, I guess.
The ducks and the children of the ducks allow
Me to sit among them.
They tell me funny anecdotes,
Dipping their beaks beneath the blue
Always, coming up for more.
Kindly, the swans enter.
Sharing, the story of their grace toward all things.
Knowing, that I too am looking inwardly.
Trying, to imbue myself with that same wretched quality.