![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the realm of my pain is
a place apart from
the rest of the world where
lush-leaved branches sway in warm winds
and women in bright
summer dresses walk the avenues
confident as Cleopatra
the body, microcosm
and macrocosm
places barriers around invaders
foreign to the system
nothing can touch me here
where I crouch, starving and raw
in spirit, naked
and alone
I want to give all the money in my purse
to a beggar on the street corner
knowing that soon I will not need it
anymore
a place apart from
the rest of the world where
lush-leaved branches sway in warm winds
and women in bright
summer dresses walk the avenues
confident as Cleopatra
the body, microcosm
and macrocosm
places barriers around invaders
foreign to the system
nothing can touch me here
where I crouch, starving and raw
in spirit, naked
and alone
I want to give all the money in my purse
to a beggar on the street corner
knowing that soon I will not need it
anymore
◾ Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Who wrote this poem? It's one of the most incredible things I've seen written about this unique brand of suffering...
(no subject)
(no subject)
It's still one of the most beautiful and heart-breaking things I've seen written about that particular rough patch on the journey of life, and I still love it. I just wish you didn't have to go through what inspired it.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)