NO PITY

Yet my slings are whirling.

I am here,

I scream,

desire.

My strength and my pain,

in the night.

I want it.

My strength is my pain,

in the night.

I want it.

I must open this door.

And go through it.

I must defeat it.

My stones must reach their target.

I scream.

Cry.

Desire.

--Pablo Neruda

Was he speaking about grief and sorrow?  The sorrow that feeds upon itself and rewards the weary heart with renewed determination, like a sadistic cannibal licking it's lips.  A sorrow oozing desperate desire.  The scar that never heals as it is tended and cared for only to break open each night. Each new stone seeks its mark.  

Like a raging river, 

like an endless fountain, 

like an echo singing it's loss 

over and over.  

What is on the other side?  

I dream the journey each night

but my desire shows no pity.