thats a line that was part of a sonnet ... or was it a couplet. thought it beautiful enough to put it here.
read some more and stumbled upon another gem:
The puppet thinks:
It's not so much,
what they make me do...
as their hands inside me.
a colleague sat on my desk whilst i read through that and he didn't get it. didn't get such simple lines. why? he is not dense or anything, usually is quite a bright chap... but when it comes to poetry... i have seen people just scampering away like they'd catch some dreaded disease or something.
i mean, i don't boast of understanding the rhymes and meters and haikus of most poets, but atleast i try to read it and if it reeks of reality, if the meaning hits home, if it smells of truth and honesty ... then i know i like it.
i miss you soo ... atleast you got poetry.