Held in my hands, I have
A chalice full of truth:
Ripples of denial,
Or tears of purest Ruth?
The faces that float across,
Vanish moments before,
The bubbles rise to the surface,
The words have lost their source.
My mind - woven into the drapes,
That separate the two worlds alive :
One of misery, the other of light,
Permeation deprived.
And I hold the chalice of truth
Spoken by voiceless beings,
Heard by cold, passive hearts,
In throngs, loneliness gleams.
No comments:
Post a Comment