I once wrote some poems of stillness and silence,

standing by rivers of reflected light:

my thoughts were on being loved and yet unloved, too -

I surrendered to the warmth of the night.

And now I feel like dying,

and if the water were still here, it would

hold me close.



I once wrote a poem while walking on gravestones,

as cobbles, rain and tear lashed down my face....

I then felt my whole world was fading

as memories jostled and fell into place.

And now I feel like dying,

and the pain of old fires still burns.



I never wrote poems when I bit my knuckles

and Death started slipping into my mouth...

but that was really a long time ago,

and I'm not writing poems now.

And though I don't feel quite like dying,

there is something deep inside me

softly crying.



And though I don't feel quite like dying

there is something deep inside me softly....





+------------------------------------------------+---------------------------