I find it hard
I find it hard to say,
so many things unspeakable.
I can see myself opening my mouth to make the sounds come out,
but I am mute;
a lute—with no strings;
a flute—breathless;
forever in a motionless pursuit of lost time.
I find it harder to write,
about the things so unredeemed.
Pen in hand, I struggle to infer, even one single word,
but it is worthless, I must confess.
Thought in my heart I must not suppress,
No longer shall I repress the lack of progress.
The hardest, until I remember my inner artist,
The hardest, still I must attest,
I find it most hard of all to love.
I easily weep one tear, for fear that verily it is,
how bawdily I am for contrarily thinking,
words alone could do my bidding,
and explain away the complexity
of this preposterous catastrophe of my heart.
-JMS
