The Passion
Love forces, makes me write,
changes my name
with exotic murmurs
waves on a far sandy shore.
Love - can a body stand it?
Touched by an inner God,
I am clay in my own kiln
worked, molded by fiery hands.
Often I wonder why?
Often I stamp a word
into a silent cosmos.
Change me not though,
push me into that inferno.
While others stare at a madman,
I stare into a maelstrom
glad to be this wide-eyed,
this typing upon a typhoon
traveling nowhere but here.
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