Saturday, July 30, 2005


Y’know that Nietzsche quote,
the one that goes, what does
not kill me makes me stronger?
Crap, my friend, complete
crap. It wears you down;

each wound weakens a little
more until what didn’t
kill you right away
gets you in the end.
There is no armor; there is

no choice. If we can walk

away from love unhurt –
even love that is faded
like memories of childhood –
we lack a heart. Lack what
makes us, us. I’ll hold

the injured bird of my pain
and heal it; until the day
it can fly away,
I’ll hold it to my heart
for it is in healing,

not pain, that we grow stronger.

Stephen Brooke ©2005

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