by Lee Owers-Sansome
Why do you get to me through walls it's years to build around the pain of all my past mistakes? Why do you make me care about the fate of thankless strangers - people so easily forgotten I would have passed them by without a second thought? Why do you make me try, when effort was the last thing on my mind along the easy path and limited rewards I'd chosen for myself? Why do you make me hope, though I'm so certain wishing only sets me up for shattered dreams and promises too hard to keep? Why do you make me love if love brings only misery and loss; a brilliant hour pursued by its inevitable end? Why do you push me? Why do I give in? Why do you get to me? Lee Owers-Sansome 7/14/96