Each tear: a row of stars,
Each pain: a sun.
A Sun that tightens air
And a light that knows not light itself,
That knows but mass,
And by total force
Does eat up the heavens
To fill its maddening sight.
A dainty sum!
Made of mind-sacks that never die,
Of Suns that are always weeping.- James J. L e e
Mail:
jerojetw
@gmail.com
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