Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells; Selves - goes itself; myself it speaks and spells, Crying "What I do is me: for that I came." ~G.M. Hopkins
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
crying
I cry for what I cannot save
for the dying roadside bird
bloodied under blackened wheels
for the frightened child
held down
learning how a secret's kept
I cry for
young veins punctured
with poisoned needles
I cry for pain
I feel screaming inside you
that fills all of me
that I cannot take away
for the sickness
that I comfort
but cannot heal
I cry for all that’s broken
that I cannot fix
and some days
I cry
for me.
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