You are the Who,
The one I find myself, reverting to:
And reverting in a way, utterly true!
My suffering has known no ends, it depends
on a myriad ways, the world pretends…
Reason, beyond the depth of eternity,
And Poetry begins to melt in her shoes.
I rip out weeds from roots of seeds,
Thus sowing a harvest on which she could breed,
For I wish to think as rhymes and hues…
To float as a vessel on the surface of Thought:
to float in that ocean, to swim without sinking.
Let the vessel be itself, Feeling;
Let the feeling do its own thinking!