Oh! Lord, how I have tried to write my heart out,
pouring it out like a waterfall into an abyss,
out on the paper in ink,
and how I have failed
to make it seen,
that which is invisible,
that which I can only feel but not see,
and that which is not ought to be shown,
to them who seek to see
with privy eyes,
but to them who can see the soul of others,
just as they can feel their own.
That which I try to allude to,
that which has always eluded me,
that which others know only
through great works by great men,
but none knows, as none sees,
for they ween theirs to be it.
And nothing has changed,though;
And though nothing has changed,
everything that has seemed so hollow
has been filled again
by nothing more than its own vacancy,
For what is meant to be filled
never ought to be left hollow:
the Heart, lest of all things.
And then, time takes it forward,
as change takes it over,
and man with strangeness in his eyes,
looks at what is familiar,
that which is inevitable and immortal,
that which he thought was himself.