I Am A Poet Who Composes What

Solitude Has Soft, Silky Hands, But With Strong Fingers It Grasps The Heart And Makes It Ache With Sorrow.

Often Times I Have Hated In Self-defense; If I Were Stronger I Would Not Have Used Such A Weapon.

And Then To Sleep With A Prayer For The Beloved In Your Heart And A Song Of Praise Upon Your Lips.

Have You Not Heard Of The Man Who Was Digging In The Earth For Roots And Found A Treasure?

The Veil That Clouds Your Eyes Shall Be Lifted By The Hands That Wove It.