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