I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Children.
Memory of old tombs,
Rotting flesh and worms do
Not convince me against
The challenge. The years
And cold defeat live deep in
Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet
I keep on dying,
Because I love to live.
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O. Wow. I love Maya Angelou and wasn't familiar with this poem. Thank you!
ReplyDeletea great pleasure, it warmed me too...
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