Treading to keep your head above water,

catching a lungful from time to time.

Going down too many times to count,

but you struggle to survive. You remain

alive with the words that drip with the emotion

that has always been your forte. Drowning in a sea

of night sweats and  blankets tangled, and things

that go bump have you stumped as your sleeplessness

offers only anxiety and paranoia. Hold your breath

and allow rest to resuscitate your muse.

You’ve abused yourself far too long. Be strong

and let nature heal what it has destroyed.

The king is not dead, he merely sleeps.

We think it is about time.

You can’t keep a good poet down. Best wishes and thoughtful prayers for Walt Wojtanik an extraordinary poet who has fallen prey to his demon. He will surely bounce back.