Saturday, May 16, 2009

Compassion and Finally Grace

        The Last hour she  spent on this Earth,
            Some one to speak of her suffering.
            Of how no one understood her, how no one would care
            her face reminds me yet of gentle grace,
            divinity within, and speaker of sweet nothings
            who plays me like her puppet held by invisible strings.
            She pains and my tears know it
            my life one with her and the Heavens know it
            Verily, I drink from the spring of her eternal youth
            intoxicated I stand, her images hung around me like a noose 

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