Friday, March 09, 2007

NOT ART YET... IV...


STRANGE FAITH

If home is where the heart is,
Well, my own is far away

And even when it does return,
It never can be mine.

The heart I had I gave to him,
And he, I know, has had

Too many gifts like mine to value what I had to give.

Would that my gift meant more to him,
Would that I too could play

With things that strike so near my life,
That draw so fine a line

Between what I can bear and what
Will surely drive me mad.

I neither can forget my gift, nor take it back --- and live.

To know that he has need of none
Hurts more than I can say,

Yet what I gave is his,
Is his to spurn,
No longer mine.

So I must live without a heart
Till his can make me glad.

Strange faith, to sacrifice the thing in which I most believe!
What god is love, if giving all means but to die and burn
Until the thing we gave in love is given in return?
That may not SOUND happy, but I assure you that I am -- just trying to keep my eyes open at the same time, that's all. "Who said it was going to be easy?"
.

No comments:

Post a Comment