Perhaps, I Know.
Why sometimes all of us are
such exponents of deceit.
Such born killers.
While I tore a young flower petal by petal
and laid a hot coffee upon a crawling ant,
I knew I was scared of death,
my death.
Perhaps, I Know.
Why sometimes all of us are such pools of pity.
Such life-givers.
While I nursed a dying bird,
and smoothed the hair of an orphan-child,
I knew I was happy of life, my life. |
