Wednesday, February 19, 2020


Pity the poor body—
It suffers and ages
While piloting us through this life
As only a body can
Until it dies and must endure the
Degradation and humiliation
Of the grave
Tortured with the corrosive fire of decay
Until what beauty it ever possessed 
Becomes broken bits of bone

We exalt the spirit and desire the formless
But when we ascend to such state
Will we not miss the eyebeams of love
And the touch of lips in our first kiss?

No comments:

Post a Comment