Plagued by Memories - Apr 18, 19
how long and sourly sobs the lonely heart
depends on how grave the weight which grieves the tears
pouring from the despondent spirit’s pores.—
a witness, too, will know the surly sort
of rain that beats down harshly on the court
called Sorrow Drive.—sure seems like nothing cheers
up the—nor nothing soothes the—nasty fears
nesting in somber nooks.—no, only art
comes close to curing spiritual sores.—
but even it leaves quite untouched the cause.—
able only to act as numbing gauze,
art is the first of many guarded doors,—
engraved on its threshold,—and colorfast—:
“seek you now to enter your wounded past?”
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