" so runs my dream, but what am i?
an infant crying in the night
an infant crying for the light
and with no language but a cry. "
(from the poem "in memoriam a.h.h.", by alfred lord tennyson)
...
i keep imprisoned
chocked with the memories' mourning
the franked weight of a sick life
- all that unreality
of your final moments
...
i miss you.
i am chocked
with never more.
(first image: youth mourning, george clausen
second image:death in the the sickroom, edvard munch)
