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What are you waiting for?
Will I die when our eyes meet?
Sometimes it is as though
I find I am not worthy of the honor
Of her voice upon me.
That she might see the love that weighs
So heavily upon my heart might
Destroy my soul as quickly as
Her smile may destroy my pride.
My mind is a reservior where
I keep and savor each small drop of
My memory of her.
Does the dirt beneath her feet
Really seem so purified by
Her mere touching it as she walks?
Could I survive this world if she left me?
Are there any words that I might speak
That could bring one last smile to her face?
Perhaps... Perhaps if she returned again
I might drown in a happy, tear-filled sea....
Meanwhile.....
The thoughtless beetle staggers
over stones much larger than himself,
and each time he passes one, he stops,
and even he thinks of what he's done.
