The Best Medicine

Some laud laughter as the best medicine,

and that may well be true.

But when one’s mindful habits jettison

all but the deepest blue

of that shared placid spring-fed inner stream

where all is silent, still

save for the sacred circle in one’s dream

that always grows, and will

one day enwrap all things, both dark and light

within the arms of Love,

and ever in a sunrise lift the night

to dancing up above,

no less a balm for splitting souls is found

beneath a falling sky,

as tears make rivulets on dusty ground

when Love begins to cry.

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