The soul is too terrible a device
to have created
this language. Untongued, reckless,
unseen forces of will, desire, and abject
Sensibility. Can you, my friend
understand me? I think not--
for I, in all my years of careful
Study and tedious reasoning
make out very little.
I can only speak to your obvious
heartache with my
Abstractions of experience, poor tools
and I am left
with only tears to answer your questioning pain.
I comprehend your joy
through a kaleidescope of colors
and lights and bits of liminal bliss--
Waiting to be shattered in the
You speak--and I listen.
But only my heart, with its
gentle fears, and hopes, and universal suffering
can begin to understand.