All This
The heart is hard to translate. It has a language of its own. It talks in tongues and quiet sighs, prayers and proclamations, in the grand deeds of great men, in the smallest of gestures, in short, shallow gasps. But with all my education, I can’t seem to command it. The words are all escaping and coming back all damaged. I would put them back in poetry, if I only knew how. I can’t seem to understand it. I would give all this, and Heaven, too– I would give it all, if only, for a moment, that I could just understand the meaning of the word. You see, because [ . . . ]
Read the Rest...



