The Fist
The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved
past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the abyss.
Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.
by Derek Walcott
(I find it interesting that the person this reminds me of is also the same person who told me they disliked all poetry. How is that even possible...??)
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1 comment:
gasp!
who dislikes all poetry?
hands clasp!
do they not have a soul!?
a bowl?
a reason to roll?
where's that poultry?
(i know poetry doesn't have to rhyme, but its fun when it does - not that that was poetry...I'll just shut up now)
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