Many words seem to float in my mind, and often times I am haunted by the voices that cry...and these sounds do not ring hope...and from what world will the trees sing songs, and from what universe will this heart of mine ever be loved...for I am awake in the midst of sadness, and I so often ask the moon: "For who are we, the ones that sit in silence?"
YOU ARE READING
in your absence
PoetryPerhaps I love you too little, because there is still so much you don't understand...for I crave touch, just not from your hands.
