This Garden

                @ careening                  shifting             weaving      through       this             @       maze                           of     @            life                    we                        lead               searching         seeking  longing                 @               for               a                  voice                       to        @                connect                                 inside                              my                        head                            passing              @                        through                               the                                    lonely                       @                    regions                                        of                                    my      @                      heart                        into                       a                       @                       hungry                              soul            @                       wanting                                  to                              be                          fed         @                 suffering                                     a                                                            discontent                                        of                  @                         emptiness                                                                     and                                                    dread          @                              A                             tenderness                                          could                                                 part       @                                    the                                    shadows                                 if                            time                      would                  allow                    @                       the                                            time              @                to                          let                        it                    be            @                        For       @                     we                               have                           been                     locked                  too             long                                                in                @                        a             denial           of    emotions            @         which  strain                     love           through    it's  angry      sieve  squeezing       happiness                  @                                           from                                 its         luscious                              fruit                    to                        the                           point          @                        of                                    dried                                        apricots                                                      @                I                         never                     did                like         apricots...                                                   @                                  @                                                                       @                                                                                                                 @                                                       @ ©  6/16/2000   Donna Saulsman Friedrichs