Everyone is wounded
Even as a child
Summer bundling into autumn
Then winter
The beauty of all things
Stolen by the cruelty of time
The drug of wanting
An insatiable dance of desire
And the inevitable disappointment
Of a finite world that does not pay
Respect to the conceit of
Infinite perfection
All tastes, all journeys, all loves
Falling short of the dream
That wounds us all
From the moment of waking