January 2003 Archives

Too many words...  
that fall on deaf ears;  
too many sights...  
that find the mind's eye blind.

So much to say,  
were saying only enough;  
but with each word  
the distance grows too much.

I am not speaking of you:  
These are the tales I tell myself.

The lilt of your gentle voice,  
its dulcet tones,  
its warm, mellifluous sound...  
to a man's ears, what balm,  
what anodyne peace;  
I linger there in memory  
until the pain of absence  
grows profound.

Your love is so very hard, my friend --  
and so very dear.

Icicles that rain on my heart  
offer a cool draught  
once the sun of knowing rises;

Bitter grains of salt  
make finely piquant  
the dishes life sends after;

Harsh fire -- a great inferno --  
transfigures my iron soul  
into radiant shafts of light...

So very hard, my friend,  
yet so dear.