Again
and again I tried it, tried to give
And
to share . . . to foster on them
All
my hard won cryptic treasure.
I
wrote my letter to them
And
they answered me not a word
I
sent my book to them
And
they could answer me nothing . . .
Not
even a one word
Or
else, one to lie, albeit unknowingly
And
tell me it was easy
When
it had cost me my whole life
To
write it
Yet
. . . had they accepted it . . .
It
would tear them, too, to give them
Everything
. . .
All
of everything they could ever desire
For
knowing it, themselves, they missed it
For
thinking they had it, they lost it
They
did nothing but hide it from themselves
Where
they thought they had it
So
I hung up my harp where they threw it.
*
No comments:
Post a Comment