how i know what is strange
before i save it from extinction
give me a peace sign
so i can hang it on my door
can i be at peace
knowing i have a pen to write
and a book to read
closing all shutters which threaten
to annihilate my own feelings
my life is but a glossary
indicating all supple movements of the past
as i face the present
to counter my judgements of the future
winter fog and summer dust
two companions i dance with
now a runaway recluse
but when i find my source
i will disappear
what shape was it?
when i felt i could touch
but i feared it would melt
and flow away from me
ahhh it burned me
just once i wanted to crash into it
and feel the pain of satisfaction
just once.. where is it?
where is my source? just once..
2 comments:
I envy people who say they found their true calling early on. My vain search continues.
Or is it that I am so dead inside that now I wouldn't even recognize my true calling even if it came knocking on my door?
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