Monday, March 12, 2012

Like a uselessly full glass
Which no one lifts from the table,
My unsad heart overflows
With a sorrow not its own.

It acts out sorrowful dreams
Just to have to feel them
And thus be spared the grief
It pretended to be dreading.

Fiction on a stage not of boards
Dressed up in tissue paper
It mimics a dance of sorrows
So that nothing will occur.

No comments:

Post a Comment