learned too solid
i to your love
have left truth without
light to create salts
salts upon ice
inside of wood
to shave time
inside of her water
she gave way
and there is knowing away
forced to inward by confine
the deprived mind
coming back to save my line of turbulence
just as jest
beside a best
the past too slow
my graph of street
inside you tickle
pulling yore
me the yolk
he the weak ending
release of my blinded laws
passing a general in a seat
unclean and furrowed sow's
back to ireland
i leave you to die
I wrote this when I was 17 in 1966---funny thing is, I wasn't even in love and what can you know then anyway......I know, we can all dream can't we!
Love is too much for words to examine,
an untouchable world, walking blind,
yet seeing.
Where one's thoughts touch dreams,
and where dreams touch reality;
complexities proof of what "WE" means,
truly us.
(I know, a weak ending, but...it was a thought a young mind writes)
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