Wednesday, July 27, 2011
The spirit wilts beneath criticism…
Like flowers in the blazing sun
Love cannot thrive under cynicism
Words are not quickly undone...
Silence is stunning grief
…after the onslaught of wrath
…yet often there is no relief
In its sorrowful after-math
There are only two kinds of tears...
Yours and mine
Though the song of summer and years
Sounds like crying sometimes...
We return…each to our own gardens
Like the bird to its nest
It is not hard to imagine
You…with your head on my chest
Like a raindrop creasing a puddle
A splash; it disappears
…so it is with moments
And laughter…and years