I’m sick of these words
Feeble attempts to qualify the heart with papers of the pen
For how do I describe fear, faith or even fate
Love made me empty, after draining me full
I pass and bolt with the baton called passion
Where I run to, I know not
But I sure as dawn know who am out after
I seek my pretty beast and I want her to tell me why she brought me here…
SSS
2 Responses
This piece reminds me of Emily Dickinson, that great American poet.
Please when she does tell you why she brought you “here”, please share. I too I am in a similar place as you were.