"All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling."~Oscar Wilde.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
I gathered his words. His words, like orbs of wool in colourful bunches, intricate, promising, knitting hopes, weaving dreams, loops of desires, the crossing of fates, starry fleeces of unslept nights, combing the fibers of pain, row by row, the guaranteed tenderness, deified by the noble words he spoke; a nice warm sweater, of enduring love- the everlasting warmth.