Elegy for a Year of Sorrow
Crush my heart
And take from me
The very passion that is my soul;
Rip it out
And leave no doubt
Of its essence and of its whole;
Then, with archeological care,
Pick it up, pick it up
O so carefully,
And blow from it
The sands and ashes
Of time immemorial,
And let it be revealed underneath
The beating heart
That aches for a gentle touch;
The breathing heart
That yearns for oh so much;
The bleeding heart
That is so well in intention
But simply forgets
What it cares for
The most.
