Haiku
The sun smiles on me and all is right within my
own invertedness.
The white-hot fire of youth has yet to sear the hidden
wisdom of Age.
This life of mine is not my own,
But belongs to my posterity.
Let Posterity live for himself,
My sins are mine, and mine alone.
The living have so much fear of Death,
Are not the Dead afraid of life?
Communication does not come with propinquity.
Nor hope with love.
The facade of ugliness may cover an oddly beautiful
heart.
Weeds desire to be flowers; ugliness has no loyalty
to self.
Susan J. Skinner
copyright 2011/all rights reserved
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