Most though, were much like Dorianna. So busy racing around that they wouldn't know a rose if he handed them one. Or have time to smell it.
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At present my life is this. This stage you looketh upon.
This stage is all our lives.
And upon its hallowed boards, creaking as they may,
All will bear witness.
Yet you forget what you
Truly are: the very breath of God.
And so you blunder through this
Dream-speckled life like an
Orphaned child hungering for home.
Yes, I am your chosen; my gangling bones,
my sensuous lips, my frightened eyes.
You play in my sandbox, but serenely
store your vision of sugar plums.
We are all born mad, some remain so.
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When day is done, the sky
puts on her black dressing gown
and turns in for the night.
smooth as polished stone
marble bodies like three
for my –– sing! ––
How many times
have I died? How many alive?
I was a ghost. A breath. You
caught my scent. Made me flesh.