poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

The tumult in the heart 
keeps asking questions. 
And then it stops and undertakes to answer 
in the same tone of voice. 
No one could tell the difference. 

Uninnocent, these conversations start, 
and then engage the senses, 
only half-meaning to. 
And then there is no choice, 
and then there is no sense; 

until a name 
and all its connotation are the same. 

Added: 2 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 22 Nov 2008 6:03 PM | Viewed: 7383 times

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