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the poetry of Charles Fry

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19 December 1997

Arms so pitiful

Limp and lifeless I hold yesterday (broken) in my hands.
Baron womb of desolation that
promised so much yet delivered such
agony as now I am left with.

Today is upon me and tomorrow is coming,
but what do I care save that
perhaps I shall see you and
feel you in my arms again.

Arms so pitiful that have known but emptiness
and yearn for something warmer.
Devoid of strength and hope
they carry me on.

 la vie me déchire   For all the words I didn't write   My two calloused hands   Hold me in your arms so tightly;   When springtime comes   soft, sweet and warm   the water of life   these are the times   geraniums   sweet of all sweetness   when Death first called my name   Arms so pitiful   Redemption   The tears in your eyes tear me more than my own.   Oh Seigneur   A toi, l'humanité   flesh of mortal man, immortal woman   again an unknown stranger.   canticle to my soul   My tender heart dilates with each   emancipation