*cessation~ Poem by Jessel Jane Tevar Toring

The beauty mirrored upon my hands
was bound to pen my wasted days;
these hands that envied Browning's
" How do I love thee.. let me count the ways"
could no more but write the pain upon them
placed.
Fingers heavy with tears drowned and died,
O the many days I threw away in waste!
If ‘love begets love' be true, then truth be lie,
the many veils I covered upon my face!


..I must cease these hands to write for thee...
no more.