Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Something wants birth
S omething wants birth,..but nothing breathes now. Writing is a curse as well as a blessing. The mind rambles on in its lowly erudition trying to mimic the heart, pushing, cajoling, waiting for a sign of something, anything, to quench its thirst of ignorance and the dryness of thinking for thinking's sake. The lonely mind, so small, has no truth of its own. Shapes go by undefined, never to be seen by and not caring for the one who senses them, but those shapes cannot cross that distance between...
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