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Viktor I am so shortsighted, as stubborn as a tooth I see trees, and only want for buds, I see buds, and only want for leaves, I see leaves like flat thirsty tongues, then turn away Viktor saw God's eyes in a dogwood, like heaven sprouting from dim bark He found faith kneeling, in the open mouth of death I am so selfish I see only teeth and jaw as cold and still as a stare Viktor, you were a man, then a number, then a man again, tortured by cries haunted by dying's slow footsteps you searched for meaning in every heavy stomp, in every sullen eye I search for mine in my garden, in traffic jams, on drugstore shelves Maybe you were created from better clay Maybe God dropped vanilla in your eyes, and tossed sand in mine I want to wet and sponge my soul with yours I want to see God's arms reaching, on every tree |
Additional Notes:
Viktor E. Frankl, psychiatrist, holocaust survivor
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