My mind is filled with thought, Though the walls have ears, They can not lend one to hear, For it is silent, or I am silent... A memory, a photograph, An old letter, with an equally out-dated, "I love you," but still no tears, For I have lost the art of crying, It is lost, like you, but not forgotten. And so I spend this evening, Without a hope nor prayer, As no respectable man, Would Dare to be on Sunday. 1983
Reason for writing:
A departure from structured meter and ryhme for which most
people may note, for which I am known. This was written
as the last of the Helen Kaye era of poems/prose, and is a
radical departure from the romantic periods of 1979-80 and
the 1996 period *Jean Louise*
Birth sign: Not entered
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