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There are walls beyond satisfaction,
Worlds in which pain is a credit card.
Ecstasy is the enemy of happiness,
Nor can we let go of what we have forgotten.
There are times when what makes us suffer
Yields fulfillment more exquisite than dreams,
Severs our arteries to the future,
Immolates skin that permits us to embrace,
X-rays our desire to live.
All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
