I have no name...nor do I seek one.
I know the cold comfort
And the inadvertant advantages
Of being wrapped in anonymity.
I am free and fearless in my cloak.
My outstretched arms,
With palms full of bleeding heart,
Can try to touch new meaning
And I have no fear of ridicule.
I can kiss the face of truth,
And risk being scorched,
And no one is any the wiser.
I can be unafraid to share
The joys of my luminous being
Or confide the deep sorrows
From the shadows across my heart.
I can be a smith of words,
Touching intimately
Yet never being touched.
My exhibitionist revelations
Would satisfy the voyeur.
I can stand within an archway
And set my soul on fire
Until I am burned to embers,
Attempting to find redemption
In a purification by fire.
I can live my life via words,
And never have my obituary read.
I will leave behind my writings
But without the memory of my voice,
Or the expression of my eyes.
My intentions will never be truly known.
A thousand different hearts
Might interpret my work -
In a thousand different ways...
And all the while I am only you.
©2002 poetheart