And talked of fate and even God
Who long ago for all things else
I ceased to wonder at.
I told my reason to be still
And not to answer back.
It could not end.
Self created, imagination fed
It grew to what I now called Love.
But soon my reason shouted back
My mind would not be stilled
And grudgingly I told myself
It ended long ago
And never really was.
How scarce the world is of love
That we must snatch even at invented straws
To save ourselves from sinking back
Into our too frequented world
Of long bleak stretches in between love
When heart and mind and soul remain untouched
And we merely exist.
-anonymous