I have no arms to speak of
as they are now cut off.
The hands as heart's doer,
without joint are now lost.
What mold now shall I grease and shape,
what form life now,
will my life take?
as they are now cut off.
The hands as heart's doer,
without joint are now lost.
What mold now shall I grease and shape,
what form life now,
will my life take?
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1 comment:
Complexity through simplicity... an economy of word to express greater depth than written... these are goals of poetry. I would say that this poem achieves those goals with great success. In other words - I love it.
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