Diana Raab

Truth Redux  

The fact is—this pen  
rarely negotiates its flow 
regardless of literary demands,  
and even if it does, I might 
forge my writing through it. 
 
These are wise words  
whispered to my students  
each day as I remind 
them to move through  
life’s obstacles skewed 
by reality and glimpses 
of joy which meander  
through a lived life. 
 
This morning, 
I yank myself out 
off a sleeping pill 
induced stupor  
to begin a day  
smothered with no agendas 
nor desire, but 
just to understand 
myself and the reason 
for eruptions in the dungeons 
of my psyche offering 
no answers.  
 
How funny  
that on some days 
we sport glasses which 
shelter us from  
the perils of good and evil 
and on other days  
everything aligns perfectly 
and the ink pours profusely.