Sorrow
For those of us who spend our days among words, it is particularly painful when their inadequacy is so plainly revealed:one's not half two. It's two are halves of one:
which halves reintegrating,shall occur
no death and any quantity;but than
all numerable mosts the actual more
minds ignorant of stern miraculous
this every truth-beware of heartless them
(given the scalpel,they dissect a kiss;
or,sold the reason,they undream a dream)
one is the song which fiends and angels sing:
all murdering lies by mortals told make two.
Let liars wilt,repaying life they're loaned;
we(by a gift called dying born)must grow
deep in dark least ourselves remembering
love only rides his year.
All lose,whole find
posted by Unknown @ 7:46 PM
4 Comments:
Beautiful poem. Much love to you and your family as you reach out to Badger.
Poignant and beautiful. Thank you for posting this. Thinking of you and your family too.
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