The poet

Yes, my heart is full of songs; songs are all I have; I do not have what they have.

They rule and they reign, they do, they attain
Out there in the world, a certain glory that could blind you so,

That could burn so cold,
That, for all its might, could not hold
That which I now sing to you: a perpetual heartache,

A hungry satisfaction,
A certain astonishment at a certain atonement,
A renaissance of redemption.

--Khôi