o the course of life
where smiles and babble perfect an image
a painting on the surface
pretentious muck
the mystery of my heart
only God understands
how does this path become
so
slow
to master the art of happiness
to find a single plateau
in such a feast of thorns
intensifying the expedition
only quickens the flow of blood
i fear i will soon be spent
man is so drenched with arrogance
so many explications
to so many vacuums
the void is only ignored
i wonder what supplies this substance of emotion
what springs such unearthly stuff?
its dominion unrecognized
though unbearably existant
to flee
would only feed
if i could only shed this horrid skin
and collapse upon my own emptiness
my hunger for comprehension
might disperse to
eternity
end this i
beg.
tl
6.1.95
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