Oh heart, wherefore art thou so conflicted?
Within my mind the contradiction spares
A tangle of such muddiness and haze
That havoc seeks for every right and wrong.
And what, therefore, is right and what is wrong?
A mess of simple things, a tired blossom
Naught of anything, but drained of water,
And drowning in soil and sand and salt.
What salt dost such a flower sink and die?
The salt of spitting Sea, the salt of tears,
The salt of maiming Rock, the salt of blood;
Is this where, soaked, a weary bud will cease.
Where art true salt, beyond young maidens’ eyes?
Here in the heart of contradiction lies.