Doubts, a sonnet
a friend
of mine
says
late at night
when we are alone with ourselves,
we know who we are.
our truth of ourselves
is unavoidable and undeniable.
what a different world, I think,
if he was right,
that kind of insight would burn bright,
it would remain into the day.
The world instead is full of needless death,
of pain a nurse's touch and smile could ease.