One that is ever kind said yesterday:
“Your well-beloved’s hair has threads of grey,
And little shadows come about her eyes;
Time can but make it easier to be wise
Though now it seems impossible, and so
All that you need is patience.”

Heart cries, “No,

I have not a crumb of comfort, not a grain.
Time can but make her beauty over again:
Because of that great nobleness of hers
The fire that stirs about her, when she stirs,
Burns but more clearly. O she had not these ways
When all the wild Summer was in her gaze.”

O heart! O heart! If she’d but turn her head,
You’d know the folly of being comforted.

Yeats, William B.

I live for the profane,
I live for the void,
walking astray...
I always end up alone

I had a dream
but can not remember it.
Today, after obsessive and bad moments
I float; my feet unlearned  to walk.

After all the cold does not bother,
my skin feels no pain, rusty heart...
After all the cold becomes friend
and the storm becomes light breeze.

A long time ago I had a life...
Lie, I never had one
I persisted, I fought, I failed!
Screaming until voiceless...

Then kept my silence forever