It was not in me It came and wentI wanted to hold it It was held by wine(I no longer know what it was)
Yet, no matter how deeply I go down into myself, my God is dark, and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence. I know that my trunk rose from his warmth, but that's all, because my branches hardly move at all near the ground, and just wave a little in the wind.
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Yet, no matter how deeply I go down into myself, my God is dark, and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence. I know that my trunk rose from his warmth, but that's all, because my branches hardly move at all near the ground, and just wave a little in the wind.
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But suppose the endlessly dead were to wake in us some emblem:they might point to the catkins hangingfrom the empty hazel trees, or direct us to the raindescending on black earth in early spring. ---And we, who always think of happinessrising, would feel the emotionthat almost baffles uswhen a happy thing falls.
She could never understand why creatures of darkness had the slightest interest in spineless human girls.
It__ so dark - as if all the lights are just there to make the other places seem darker.
Somehow I'd still managed to go all retarded at the sight of some handsome asshole with a nice smile.
Acceptance is the key to finding where my truth lies in the darkness.