Ross Olson's Web Site

Poetry: Searching


"This guilt," I told the counselor,
"Will surely weigh me to the grave.
I've done so many sinful things
I want to stop; I'm still a slave."

"Hold on a minute, stop right there,"
The counselor pushed back his chair.
"I see we need to educate,
Your mind is mired with excess freight.

First of all, you mentioned sin'.
You must remember that we're in
The age of understanding, friend,
The ancient concepts have to end.

And 'guilt', how can I make you see,
Is artifactual. You're free
To do whatever feels OK
With no regrets.
That's all I'll say."

"This Lump," I told my surgeon friend,
"Is kind of sore. It's grown a lot.
I'm getting worried. Help me, please.
It started as a bluish spot."

"Your problem, it is plain to see,"
The doctor turned, now facing me,
"Is one that I can try to cure --
You're anxious, worried, insecure."

That's right. The problem is with you.
Your attitude, like old swine flu,
Infects your total being.
So The worry simply has to go.

With feelings that are negative
You'll never really learn to live.
So tell yourself, ' I'm truly free;
That's all the help you'll get from me."

Ross Olson

Send comments to me at ross{at}

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