the heart longs For desire while Closing down love

There are prayers
For which
Prayer
Is no good.

There are hopes
Made out
Of hopelessness,
& the expression
Of them
Is a desolation.

There are ways
The heart longs
For desire while
Closing down love,
& the torments
Stretch long
& far forever.

There are obsessions
Whose brand on the soul
Expresses nothing
But the life not lived.

There are dyings
That are not Death,
& the hell
Of knowing this
Is Hell.

There are loves
Only sayable
Over months
& years
Of holding on.

Ask me tomorrow,
Little one.

[Richard Bausch {1945- } 'There are Prayers' from These Extremes]