Something worth the horror of feeling…
The sense and pain of touch,
Too broken with the art of dealing,
To care for the threat of the rush…
Love is exposed, the need too much…
In times where hope disintegrates,
There’s nothing left to bear the crutch…
Both fall from the pressure of grace.
If the heart was working,
The soul would fly from this trembling frame,
A dim light through glass worth looking…
In a world where nothing will ever be the same…
Is it worth the horror?
The judgment and the shame of kneeling…
With these skin and bones we borrow,
The fail-safe of healing…
The world has lost its luster,
Nothing is what we’ve known…
Having all the lies we could foster,
In the end, we are all alone…
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
(Self-published. Please contact author directly to order.)
Enter the pages of diaspora in quiet introspection. Bathe your thoughts with subtle humor; synchronize your spirit-sense with history-in-heat; fall headlong with eyes wide open into
Dear readers, this is my third book of poems, and inside are a special collection of what have turned out to be not only MY personal favorites, but also the favorites of many of YOU. Some of these have never been available in print before...
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Great write,
Pierre
fee