the harbor is no place for those with hurt.
Fold into the cradle of my arms
and, like Earth's purging spring,
issue forth your heartache.
Let me soak in all your sorrows,
mingle them into my self.
And with the discovery of this new me--
in perpetual metamorphosis--
I may begin to know you
as you know yourself:
a statue against the turn of the seasons.
11-15-08
No comments:
Post a Comment