Who likes to write, and yet who doesn’t dare
Describe the horrors in his own life’s night:
The gray and ghastly shapes, the livid white
Of searing conscience; or the horrid pair
Of blood-rimmed eyes sunk into every care,
Must feel some lack of words that serves him right:
To bring the horror in one heart to light
Might drive the reading world insane for fair!
And so he sugar-coats his dreams, to hide
The spot where cold and quaking drama grew,
And writes a lot of tripe–about like this.
(So any lover, with his one beside
Him, leaves realities for this fresh clue,
And too far gone for words, can only kiss!)
by Ray Romine Wednesday, August 21, 1946
