Brink

I am counting on small things

On very simple things 

To bring myself back

From the brink

Am looking at flowers, fragrances

Leaves, sticks and straws

Clay, soft and mouldable 

Even paper

And autumn sunshine 

Because origami saves my soul

When nothing else can 

A walk amongst flowers

Makes me remember that - everything is nothing 

And vice versa

A song, a dusk,

Faded rainbows

Old scrapbooks

And forgotten poems 

Tell me that - I can just be

Quiet and still.

If there's anything that is of any value

At all

Is a head that sleeps alright

And a heart that knows true calm

Not that I've money and houses

But those are zilch too.