Peace

03 Nov 99

There is no rest for the wicked, they say
And I must believe that what they say  is truth
Lest I lament this chaos that engulfs my soul
Every time I attempt to be true to my character.
Every man that I touch turns to betrayal.


This soul, unfettered, might have sung glory to nations
Might have frozen hate to the bones
Might have liberated the imprisioned hearts that beat
so carefully in their cages.


Yet, faced with anguish at every turn
Man steeped in betrayal and abuse
The anger that enshrouds me turns to bitter tears
And I hasten to removed this heart from the path of man.
Celibacy never so attractive as this moment. 

© 1999, Tara Tambolleo