I Asked Her About Life, And It

We Make Our Own Truths And Lies....truths Are Often Lies And Lies Truths.

I Asked Her About Life, And It Was As If She Rummaged Around In A Dusty Chest To Get Me The Answers.

I Didn't Like The Way I Looked, The Way I Dressed And Moved, What I Achieved And What I Felt I Was Worth. But There Was So Much Energy In Me, Such Belief That One Day I'd Be Handsome And Clever And Superior And Admired, Such Anticipation When I Met New People And New Situations. Is That What Makes Me Sad? The Eagerness And Belief That Filled Me Then And Exacted A Pledge From Life That Life Could Never Fulfill? Sometimes I See The Same Eagerness And Belief In The Faces Of Children And Teenagers And The Sight Brings Back The Same Sadness I Feel In Remembering Myself.

As A Citizen And Someone Who Was A Judge On The Constitutional Law Court For 18 Years, I Feel Whenever I Can Raise My Voice With The Hope Of Being Heard I Need To Do It, But I Wouldn't Assign A Special Wisdom And Responsibility To Writers.

She Was Struggling, As She Always Had Struggled, Not To Show What She Could Do But To Hide What She Couldn't Do. A Life Made Up Of Advances That Were Actually Frantic Retreats And Victories That Were Concealed Defeats.