I Read Eliot And Thought Of You Poem by Sarah Hardin

Bleak is the sufference,
this dragging from midnights other side,

when the hollow of Eliot's words
consume me.

Stuffing myself with straw
;
as I struggle to drag the realities of you.

Yet never more caressing

the realities of my need

to consume the rose with fire.

I pour the ashes into tumblers
to stir,


the dissonnace of a bitter wine.

Drinking with distaste the rotwood

of words not yet concieved,

to distinquish between the fantasy
of you,

and the reality of me.