Wednesday, April 26, 2000

beneath

At times I wish only that my heart would open inside my mind,
that I might cry with new sorrow and weep new tears of salt and mist.
But I am hard and stubborn and have only a vague idea 
of what beauty may or may not be.

Why write and for what humanity? To be a child...
To be again loved as a child; to again yearn for the self indulgence indulged a child...

    yet more than death waits 
        for those who wait
            for love

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