LIVING DEATH
If dreams are the stuff of which
Life is composed,
Then why am I here in this
Dreamless sleep?
If Love is the stuff that makes
The world go 'round,
How can I move when
I can't make a sound?
Why do I stay here
Silent and Cold,
Daily awaiting
My Plot to be hosed?
Fearful to live, love, move
Speak and BE....
Afraid of that most menacing of enemies,
ME.
G. Rizzo