The heart fritters away
stutter stepping
towards sleep
feeling for oblivion
which it finds.
But just before light
it percusses again:
that stubborn throb.
I will have joy.
I will have it,
whatever comes next.
The heart fritters away
stutter stepping
towards sleep
feeling for oblivion
which it finds.
But just before light
it percusses again:
that stubborn throb.
I will have joy.
I will have it,
whatever comes next.