Am I affectionate enough,
when the words escape my mouth?
It is all I can do to trade love for cruelity.
Like a nun polishing candles
in a burnt out church,
We weave lies where truth should be,
Our tragic nature a grievance
A disturbance of peace..
The dying words lost as softly spoken
words never reach the ears they were meant for.
The nun polishes for lack of anything better to do.
Sarah Hardin
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ramblings-of-a-mad-women/
