Monday, August 29, 2005

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

4 Comments:

At 6:28 AM , Blogger Yankee, Transferred said...

Beautiful poem. Much love to you and your family as you reach out to Badger.

 
At 10:49 AM , Blogger Pink Cupcake said...

Poignant and beautiful. Thank you for posting this. Thinking of you and your family too.

 
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