I am ... A woman With a full heart, hidden Somewhere in an empty room ... With eyes not quite of autumn's gold, and yet Neither all of summer's green; I wonder ... If love is a tale made for children -- A granting of sweet dreams in their innocence -- A honey-coating to help their throats Choke down the bitter draught ... I hear ... A voice that whispers warnings, half-formed, Bodiless as hope, until I swear I cannot draw Another breath unless this spectre be unmasked, His lies mangled neath my righteous tread; I see ... A woman, proud, uncompromising, Diaphanous as air -- less, even, than the tears That fall in desolation about her weary feet, Salt poison pooled upon the withered ground ... I want ... A measure of quietude, a certain silence, The echo of alone which heals me of dreaming, The nothing that stills the wanting, The numb, the cold that laughs at pain; I am A woman, hidden ...
I pretend ... That I can live forever -- that Time Has no puissance but that which I afford Him -- And so, I can wait, I can be happy tomorrow, Sleep is for the dead; but its ghosts haunt my waking ... I feel ... Too much -- too deeply to be directionless, Too real for imagining, and yet the familiar eyes Hold nothing of recognition -- only my reflection -- A meeting of shadows in sunlit glass; I touch ... The downy wings of hope, in wonder, In reverence, in need, in hunger; Alas, it burns my fingers as a flame, A sacrilege, self-defined ... I worry ... That I am alone; that in my longing I have forsaken all -- but oh, what reward, What smile divine should light the path to freedom -- And how can I but heed the siren's call? I cry ... For having too much, for fear of bursting, And then, when by the pouring of my soul I lie, a vessel emptied, I cry again For what was had, and lost; I am A woman, empty ...
I understand That life is what you make it, That sometimes, the coat of many colors That marks..
