Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
T. S. Eliot
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Why the concern? The feeling of drowning in the fear. With no real logic but what has past. What will i do with all this weight. I seek it as i seek my way through the pathway of the years. I fear. I doubt. I contemplate events not of this time. Forward. What do you see? Me? Am i there? Next to your beat.