Sometimes I visit <br />your terse land of dreams, <br />I touch every bruise <br />hoping it would fit my hands <br />so I can apologize <br />for your wounds <br /> <br />Sometimes I fraternize <br />with the quietude of the night <br />so that I may learn <br />to harmonize <br />with your laugh and sighs <br /> <br />Sometimes I visit <br />your sleeping memory <br />But I always fall out <br />for its rooms are crumbling <br />with drunkenness <br />and rusts <br /> <br />Sometimes I cajole <br />for understanding, pawning <br />rationality for sympathy <br />but it remained <br />scarce in these evenings <br />I lost my own <br /> <br />Perhaps I shall go on <br />struggling with forgiveness, <br />frequently <br />basking in a threadbare <br />shawl of peace <br />in this wintry solitude.<br /><br />Norman Santos<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/frequently/
