the lions are in repose
in repose
in repose
I wish only my thoughts would lay so sweetly in grassy pastures
my thoughts that torment me
my thoughts that hunger
the lions are in repose
in repose
in repose
but I am awake
without solace
without a soft bed
without.
the lions are sleeping
all small and handsome
in some chamber
called "deep"
a clamor
and the difficulty of
getting out
and getting through
and getting under
under a something
but what?
my spirit's been shot
it is in repose
laying still in muddy water
stirring no silt
calling out for a discussion
of the most painful of
primitive parts
lion's teeth
the higher mind
love
the higher art
love
the higher death?
love?
is it loneliness
the thought of being left behind
by love
what is worse?
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Not until we are lost do we begin to find ourselves--
Henry David Thoreau
Henry David Thoreau
1 comment:
I think your question is as old as time. But if we don't risk for one, we are doomed to the other.
Lovely poem!
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