HsC285

I wonder many times, oh-stranger-like-me, Of how it would be If you perhaps come across these lines And smile (or perhaps shed a tear) and think This heart's so much like me. If I would write of how love passed me by – And you would not question why I was thinking of throwing myself to the ground From the terrace of a building. If I would mention how love returns – And yet incessantly burns, With a sharpness and sting That makes all wonder on the need of this thing. Would you, stranger-like-me, think of this? Have you hoped for immortal bliss And settled for earthly disillusionment? A neglectful youth arising from ab

where has the world swung vanished quietly into the cold outside and inside voices speak to yesterday and wonder why feelings hear tomorrow yet refuse to die the world seems to appear a gaping wound surrounded by gore of all the years a large yo yo dangling from a white beard unwashed and tangled another world swings in on gollum's hair reeking of fish and heat it hits the wound and rebounds was that world real or is this one?

What would I ask Life If I met her one day? Why couldn't you make Love stay? Wasn't your spring young enough To defeat autumn's blight? Could the summer flowers not Sustain the winter night? Could your cyclic seasons Leave no hope for Love's heart? Could reincarnation Not prevent you to part? Were the dreams that you dreamed, At the dawn of childhood, Bitter as Time to die As all sad mortals should? Or were you just too vain To labor for love As a good lover should? Was love not the lover You hoped he would be, And you got abused by Hope And Love's own vanity? Were you too busy with Time Neglecting love's demand? Was T