Wednesday, September 22, 2004
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I doubt you'll write this
poem for me
Since I so rarely get
The things I set my
heart upon,
The things I might regret.
So little do I now expect,
So little hope or fear,
I draw a circle round myself
And find my pleasure there.
Alone I read, I dream, I like
My music loud, I wait
For something that will never come,
I fault my faultless fate.
I throw myself upon your will,
Yet know you will not say
The words that show me to myself
And burn my heart away.
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:(
nice poem isnt it?
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...
;; right from the beginning3:05 AM
