These are but vain attempts to express, by one who wears her heart on her sleeve. Words, much like love, can be ever elusive... ever frustrating... like trying to paint a million stories on a single canvass. If you will read, please do not ask. Just feel. Or at least try to. The meaning is, whatever you have felt to be there, or the lack thereof :)


The blessings:
    A certain gift of vision,
    And an aura of mystery
        mere mortals don’t have.
    An ability to speak from within
    To wield power
    Through the eloquence of the pen.

The curse:
    Constantly obsessed
    and possessed by words –
    Demons impossible to exorcise
    Yet at times still unable to exactly express
    The angst,
    The hurt,
    The pain;
    The tragedies that wound more deeply
    Because of the "poetic gift".

24th July 2000

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Dear dearest, these are your love songs: