"This is what it feels like to have the vestiges of what makes you human torn apart.
Flesh cauterized, thoughts turned into ephemeral wastes of warmth,
I sit and gaze across this barren creation of man from the Earth.
Love, as it is, remains an idea consitituent to the proletariot of this soil.
As we have sprung from dirt, we shall re-enter it as corpses.
My thoughts, my creation, my love, my hopes and my dreams shall all die.
Don't fret restless soul, for you shall be erased.
Oh clay of ersatz molding, take me back to where I belong. "

(He has writen me in words.)

A poem by Allen Hrynick, check it out here:[link]