Just a note.

Eyebrows can crease
How painful it must be to see a frown;

or how lifting it must feel for the cellist
His high notes meet the frown to ecstasy

How liberating it must feel.

Ten-fold.

The artist is reveled, his suffering poured into this art.

What of the common Man, his suffering now ten-fold, forever confined to his head?

We forget; do remember.

We weep and weep
reprieve is not quite near

yet we remember majesty
for the stars though there before
were never seen until man

Wither.

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing." - Anaïs Nin

Listless

How fallible, the human will is
How malleable, the human ego is

Even in my dreams, it rains.