I.
Gilded letters have scarce the tolerance
For sorrow written as a monument
To bear witness, leaving a reference
Of oneself, distinct yet so different.
These pages speak unto a story, high
Giving graces folly no place to tread
Yet too, saving places where words may lie
Heavy in portrait, freely darkness fed.
Darkness never-ending, sweeping the hero
In black embrace from light's feeble clutches.
From joy to pain, all else left is sorrow
With not even the lightest of touches.
A life of confessions and of wonder,
This, a window to peer through and ponder.
© George Galang February, 2001
For sorrow written as a monument
To bear witness, leaving a reference
Of oneself, distinct yet so different.
These pages speak unto a story, high
Giving graces folly no place to tread
Yet too, saving places where words may lie
Heavy in portrait, freely darkness fed.
Darkness never-ending, sweeping the hero
In black embrace from light's feeble clutches.
From joy to pain, all else left is sorrow
With not even the lightest of touches.
A life of confessions and of wonder,
This, a window to peer through and ponder.
© George Galang February, 2001