Thursday, August 26, 2004

Why Must I Cry?

I could write a thousand pages,
Of woe and tears and gloom,
Like every child I suffered wounds that can not be seen.

Where does the pursuit of these tales bring me?

I comb through my life looking for gold,
Because the dross isn't worth immortalization,
Let it lie buried in the past.

If I fill my eyes with jewels from the past life sparkles.

If my poetry is golden,
If it is like a ray of sunshine in Summer,
Why should I shed light on the rotted leaves that fell out of season?

The balm of a rich life is not found in a bucket of pain.


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/26/2004

Author's Comments:
I've heard from somewhere that my poetry is one sided when it comes to
childhood. My reply? "Thank God I have that choice."