October 3, 2004

• Let me not to the marriage of true minds
  
  Admit impediments. Love is not love
  
  Which alters when it alteration finds,
  
  Or bends with the remover to remove:
  
  O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
  
  That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
  
  It is the star to every wandering bark,
  
  Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
  
  Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
  
  Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
  
  Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
  
  But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
  
  If this be error and upon me proved,
  
  I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
  
  
  
  William Shakespeare  

  
  

   

  
  

  *****

  
  

  I’m no longer in such great pain
  in fact, I’m in no pain at all… just feeling a loss of energy
  energy expended in maintaining an illusion
  it was an illusion of my own making; one that has cost me dearly
  but the dreamer has awoken
  and all that remains are the fragments of a dream remembered
  and a confusion that comes of having lived too long
  outside of concrete reality

  
  

  a decades long chapter has come to a close
  and one is left to glean what one can, to learn
  sifting through broken shards
  where the mind once saw whole pots
  the true contents of which were scattered long ago

  
  

  but the shade is not the thing
  and to linger on its meaning for more than a moment
  would be to tarry among the dead
  it’s of no use to the living
  and the coursing of the blood, felt once more
  no longer somnambulent
  causes the head to turn to matters of the living
  for only in reality can there be truth
  

  
  

  
  
  

  • 4:08 pm
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