People are not made without pain.
We trade our personal safety for fame
and a bit of immortality.
Even willow trees,
shaped like green spliced angels,
the holy sailx feathered scepters,
won’t weep forever.
And the tender, furry caktins
young, silvered and sweet,
won’t stay sweet forever—
When I was still sweet and young,
I felt the thorns deeply. I wanted
all the pain to stop, so I could
grow up to be famous.
I want happiness, and comfort,
and love, along with inspiration,
the rain along with the sun,
the tender fuzzy tendrils
along with the silent, swaying tree.