She was eighteen, I was fourteen, All I had were dreams; Damn, those were confusing visions, With recurrent themes — I felt tortured every night. I’d try to get some rest: There she was, then, on the beach, And I just felt possessed. Images and strange new feelings; Latency and double dealings, Sonia smiling down … Continue reading "Diaries of Another Summer (8)"
This isn’t what a man should be, He feels it in her stare — Although there’s no one else who knows And just as few who care He feels the weight of everyone, As though they, too, gaze steady Upon a man whose blood won’t flow: It’s like he’s dead Already
He tries, then, to distract himself, And not rest on his laurels; But minds aflame with imagery Are hard to douse With morals
Not that it's any surprise.