Thursday, January 1, 2009

P.S. I wrote a poem

Flesh
This softness
fragile, breakable
Its strength formidable

Complex and misunderstood
a weapon, a vice
Pain's source
Sorrow's fount

Soft flesh
Tough bone
a cage, a home
Inviting, deceptive
enticing, vicious, constricting

Nothing
everything
Nothing
obsession
Nothing

A tool in the Hand
useful, humble
A wineskin without wine
dry

Poured out
Healing balm
Empty
Thirsty
Nothing

No comments:

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better.

I have found the paradox that if I love until it hurts, then there is no hurt, but only more love.