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So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd,
Whilst that this shadow
doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am suffic'd
And by a part of all thy glory live.
Look what is best,
that best I wish in thee:
This wish I have;
then ten times happy me!
Sonnet 27

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

page 1

What makes the word 'human' so damned wonderful? You're always mourning your humanity, denying yourself the power and priviledge that are yours by right for fear of becoming inhuman. You fight to keep from doing what is natural for you, simply becase you pride yourself on being human. What is being human? ...
I was standing on the mountaintop with Satan whispering in my ear. And I was weak.
~Nancy A Collins Sunglasses After Dark

Unknowing
unsurity
of what is to come
That delicious wandering
of wonder
Feeling with more
than the touch of fingers
The heart
so afraid
to be hurt
unable
to stop itself
from plunging ahead
The throbbing ache
of the loins
desperate
hunger
to sate
the glorius heat
To be human
is to know thirst
to be unwilling,
unable,
incapable
of finding enough
to drink
to it's fill
though always
forever trying
~hers

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