Events in my earlier years showed me that I had a need to help others in their time of need. This led, first, to my becoming an Astrologer and, later, a Hypnotherapist. Two poems demonstrate my earlier frustrations.
Time lost, spent waiting for the phone to ring,
With hope, yet dreading what the call might bring.
Does anyone want me for what I am?
For what I am able to do for them?
A chance is all I ask to prove my worth,
To show that I was predestined from birth
To comfort, love with all my soul and heart,
A woman who is sad, forlorn, apart.
But still I wait and still the phone won’t ring,
And then I start to curse the blessed thing.
It smugly sits and smiles from one to nine,
While holding back the message on its line.
Then, all at once, a new thought comes to be:
Could she be waiting for a call from me?
The light faltered, flickered in the glass bowl;
Shadows danced on the wall of the dark room,
Which seemed eerie and cold like a tomb,
Full of dark despair and devoid of soul.
The weight of life has had a heavy toll,
Removing joy and leaving only gloom;
An overwhelming sense of death and doom
Pervades the being of a person, whole.
A candle burning bravely, but in vain,
Trying to dispel the melancholic,
I might as well have tried to conquer rain,
Or form straight lines from the parabolic,
Than to attempt to influence your life
By giving love in place of mortal strife.