By Will
He spoke with hurt and I chose him, This unfortunate soul becomes ego’s friend, Father’s boundaries adhered never challenged, His patience tested on a radius of denial, Whose crib does he sleep that man in consciousness, All earthly answers lie creased under pillows, While the boy rides his bike with tendency to fall, Caught in sympathies yielding nest, Growing pains heard from mountains afar, Gods dream, ripped apart thorn by thorn, A man is born like a calf with unsound legs, Who now walks alone under his full moon. Only the wounded healer can truly heal ~ Irvin D. Yalom
inPsychotherapy 
Two poems in as many days ~ what on earth is going on? I can’t tell you how delighted I am to witness you creating poetry ~ it feels like a whole bundle of poems may be sitting inside your innards just waiting to tumble out. I sincerely hope so ~ you were clearly meant to write. Another stirring poem, Will.
I am not sure what is going on, me writing poetry! I never got it, but thats just the point, I never got IT. It’s a pleasure waiting for Peter to comment, maybe i’m writing for both of us. Thank you as always buddy!
Nice job…I like it!!