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Painted Brain | Four Poems
We're bridging communities and changing the conversation about mental illness using arts and media.
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  • November 14, 2015

Four Poems

Buried Treasure

I’ll never be able to say goodbye as I drape myself like a loyal flag

over a coffin and wish I could be buried too and wish I had a prayer.

I’m a worm of discontent and daisies are but a weed that feed on me.

Turned soil so fresh the flesh now gone, what’s the eulogy for a worm

that squirmed all through life?

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

He caught fish and that was his wish and with bigger fish to fry

he tried to make everyone happy

and feed the world with his heart.

Daniel William Concharty

———
Hope Chest

The doctors hacked away at her chest

The emotions hacked away at my soul

So I sold my soul to whomever and prayed each night

swimming in a pool of sweat as the fight became mine

I was a kid watching a horror movie to move me from my

steadfast vigil to tackle the truculent tumor

at rest in her breast with unrest in the heart of our home

(How could this happen to my beautiful mother?

She was my confidant, my comfort and now I choked on her every word.)

I knew the five year cure rate, but it was an eternity that lasts till this day.

Her disease was my disease and I wondered where if ever was the cure?

Cancer was a word I became familiar with so young so soon and always battle

till it’s expunged from the language we all call hope.

Daniel William Concharty

————
I Dance Alone

I dance alone and stumble alone in the dark with a partner

who hates me

still I fumble and always look back for another day where play

sings my song and crushes the heels that kick me.

Hey band throw me another on the dance floor and play my favorite song

before it wears out the record.

My partner is light as air and I dare share my dance with her eternally.

Daniel William Concharty

——————————

For He Who Made Me Feel So Good

Do you know what it’s like not to be heard by another

but my words scream off the page.

Do you think when the ink dries you will hear me?

How about a friend who hears my heart, but will no longer just hear my hope.

On bended knee he will always be there for me

and I pray this will always be so.

Keep up the good word,

Daniel William Concharty

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