Who is this a picture of?
This hollow soul is me.
There's room for God
And room for love,
But grief has hallowed out the eyes
The ghosts to see,
And tea too strong, philosophy,
has sallowed me this way.
How can it be? Who sees me thus?
On fallow field of notebook paper grew a mother,
Some secrets can't be kept.
He said, "I was just doodling,
And it ended up like you."
This is a very poignant poem really. Sometimes it is enlightening to see just how someone else sees you....and sometimes perhaps a bit disconcerting as well.
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