No Bitter Wind

Thursday, January 9, 1992

Where are you? I scream.

The weight of solitude
maddens me
And being blind of darkness
I still can't see

Where are you? I scream.

The weight above
destroys me
And being blind of you
I see too clearly

Breaking down, I sob,
and yes, I care too much

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I have been writing poetry since I was about ten years old. Much like Miss Dickenson, I have been hoarding my works -- not out of malice or fear -- but simply because there seems to be few uses for poetry in our society.

Poetry, though, really transcends more prosaic work in the way that a single image can transcend a movie. A poem can be easy to remember, to quote or describe -- while expression of a larger prose piece may be difficult when re-creating the full energy of the original.

In the commentary, I will share my stories about the poems. Please feel free to include your own. I hope you find the reading of these poems as inspiring as I found the writing of them to be.

No Bitter Wind

Thursday, January 9, 1992

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