17 October 2009
My eyes are open today. I see
how fruitless are the hours spent worrying
about a form and substance you adore.
These conversations never cease behind the eyes,
laughing or weeping. They never cease.
I hear the fretting accusations,
the whispers of starvation. I hear them,
but they grow quieter with time. Or perhaps
I build a wall inside my head, beyond which
their power diminishes--
I am, without fear, who I am.
1 comment:
"Without Fear" kinda of connected with me as i read it. Its so true that whispers grow quieter with time and insignificant too. Its power just fades and though you remember it...there's no emotion attached to it.
Good write.
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