sometimes
i become fearful
of my own words
tongue-tied
and silent
unable to express
unable to say what weighs down
my jagged mind
and just as
i was
finding
shelter,
you swept in
like a
storm,
to tear
the walls
all
down
again
and leave me
in the cold.
Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.