Every accolade, every praise, all kudos,
are earned by the sweat that pours from my body,
and the blood of my tears.
These tears for a lost past that tore at my being
are no longer as razor sharp and as frequent.
There may be some unexpected health lurking
in the dank bowels of that melancholy past,
and there may yet be some startling beauty hidden
in the shattered fragments of that wrathful facade.
To be sheltered in the warm embrace of some love
seems unimaginable to me, as yet.
Is it possible that I might grow enough,
give enough, love enough
to be able to receive that devotion?
Ay, this is truly a frightening and provocative concept.
Is it time?
Time to test the tepid waters of temptation?
Time to touch the tender wounds of my psyche
and find out if I flinch?
Time to render the story of tears and tribulations
to impartial juries and audiences - yet untried?
Ah, this shall be no cozy winter,
cuddling in the quilted comfort of a lover's embrace,
rather, I think I shall finally learn
that love of self that must carry me through.
This day, my burden is tiresome,
yet, I know I shall learn the joy,
grow into the love.
© 1997, 1998 Tara Tambollio