Tuesday, May 25, 2010

My Inheritance

The great irony of searching
Is that one loves the search
And not the finding
To have a thing destroys it's value
There is no integrity in ownership
We possess our hearts
And are the caretakers of our happiness
But a rose does not bloom
Because we expect it to
Neither will an oak tree grow
For our need of shade
So why do we suppose love to be different
And harvest our souls in the spring?

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