I really don’t want them to <br />these souls <br />inhabiting destruction. <br />Reading Virginia Woolf <br />her words catapulting me <br />into the London twilight <br />then drowning herself <br />no instantaneous death <br />before the lungs burst <br />Or Cesare Pavese <br />his friend saying <br />“an immense and complex <br />distrust of men and life” <br />went under at 42 <br />his poems <br />shining on his grave <br />And Edward Lear <br />that queer duck <br />who scribbled absurd lines <br />seeking to capture <br />a human touch <br />on his desolate cheek <br />never did <br />and others nameless numberless <br />somehow the great matter <br />eluding intelligence <br />not so the Rinzai Zen Priest Poet <br />Ikkyu <br />scribbling delight <br />in the moonlight <br />with his own frail flesh <br />his precious poems <br />an elixir of life.<br /><br />Charles Chaim Wax<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/they-come-to-me/
