Walking on hot coals
Inky seas
Shredded feet
Lump in my throat
Asphyxia
A cupful of acrid stale love
Where are my blue skies, my copper sun, my lost cloud?
The demented woodpecker in the garden, bashing his beak on an unloving electric post
Whiplash
Whip lash
A thousand lashes would be less
And still not hurt as much.
Oh beloved God, hold me close tonight.
What a purgatory! the profound pathos that percolates through your poetry makes me think aloud: Can there such a 'sach' that you would love to believe all truths to be inimical to your very existence!
ReplyDeleteThere is only truth. We are not real. The trouble lies in coming to terms with it. As for love, it is God.
ReplyDelete