It's all right to come from your eyes <br />when you thought tomorrow was beyond our control <br />and yestrerday with all its mistakes and cares <br />is like watching a child eat their last meal <br /> <br />and i have sat on her grave <br />on an afternoon on a struggle to survive many evenings <br />as the obituary column isn't surprising <br />it is brilliantly structured with all its possible adversities <br /> <br />and you cannot erase a single word you said <br />we are all burdened with two eternitites <br />of which one will never be born <br />like nothing makes sense when responsibility screams how deep the soul runs <br /> <br />of which there are no rules <br />sometimes to be a poet is to be a pest <br />and why would anyone think before they know <br />like a drug bites the nails and lights up my nights <br /> <br />like i learned to swim screaming while the ocean was laughing <br />and on my grave the sunshine will almost certainly not work <br />but there will be a light holding a hand <br />some embers that can be yours <br /> <br />and i hope you found a special rose that has the great voices that yearn to be there <br />because it still hurts to play with my heart, knifing the shadow of Storni<br /><br />gregory collins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/knifing-the-shadow-of-storni/
