I am in love with the brightest days;
That all rots and dies of their sins,
In what is called their burning minds,
In what is called the merit of mine.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That all souls adore and salute sunshine,
That all is destruction that I can see,
That no pain is to be borne beneath me.
I am in love with the brightest days;
On which all are a mess less faithful,
That they are the betrayal they meet;
I am the destruction the poet writs.
I am in love with the brightest days;
For such days are dead to compassion,
Neither literature it is, nor passion,
None of the good poetry shall remain.
I am in love with the brightest days;
The roseate joys of the evil moon,
And the yellowness that writhes like me,
And shall be drowned, like me.
I am in love with the brightest days;
And the leaning branches that sway,
The leaves and roots that soon forget,
The unchained heart that shuns truth.
I am in love with the brightest days;
In me is a sanguine fear of faith,
A blinding rose and denial of joy,
A hesitant fire of madness.
I am in love with the brightest days;
I delight not in sweet foreign ways,
I am a shunned temper myself, from within—
I am still blind, I am still not seen.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That no rain remains and clouds are sins,
That the skies are but no flattery to me;
That roads are too blind and shan’t see.
I am in love with the brightest days;
For my shine makes it hard to read thy poem,
And shall blind utterly verdicts and prose,
I am the evil bud of the devil’s rose.
I am in love with the brightest days;
For none in coldness shall stay shimmering,
And who shall forbid the curse of snow,
I shall not hide at dusk, and in the morning.
I am in love with the brightest days;
For no sun in sight shan’t see tomorrow,
And what malice hides by the snow,
With gruesome lies by the forgiving rain.
I am in love with the brightest days;
For all favours me, a great stupor,
I shall deliver those impending pains,
I shall make decay all that remains.
I am in love with the brightest days;
For all is tumult that they can’t see,
For none in their dark nest shall see me,
For none of their joys stays with me.
I am in love with the brightest days;
I crave for all poignant walks and ways,
And no misery to me is deprecating,
And no lyric to me is love.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That I can but writ my own verses,
While ‘tis in my fate, my being not,
The fatal destiny I was born for.
I am in love with the brightest days;
For all the dark is too cold to see,
Nor an ecstasy to my rabid hands,
Just a minor of the vile rain.
I am in love with the brightest days;
All cold things are spoilt for me to see,
Nor an indulgent touch to my senses,
A hindrance to the earth’s lenses.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That thy dark love has failed me to see,
And not by thee shall I want to be,
I want to be the brightest on my own.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That the devil is but all over me,
That my own mind has lived without me,
That my sight is numb, that I cannot see.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That the bad is born, and grows in me,
That my own hatred has left me,
That my conscience has fallen away.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That my sullen memory has hated me,
Leaving me for the rain in my wake,
Leaving me for the winter it makes.
I am in love with the brightest days;
For the sultry rain lulls me to sleep
And the night makes me weep so deep,
That I but fake myself in my slumber.
I am in love with the brightest days;
And guess who teases the stars awake
While the night makes us love so true,
That I but anger thy verses anew.
I am in love with the brightest days;
And guess who makes the sky so blue,
All is hatred in my red chamber,
All is hurt, an eternal wound.
I am in love with the brightest days;
And whose words but disable thy poems,
When all I do is but shine on who writ,
When I shan’t ruin the words that meet.
I am in love with the brightest days;
And whose spell makes daytime brilliant,
With a shine so idyllic in its doom,
With a pink shade so thick as idioms.
I am in love with the brightest days;
And guess who makes daylight so true,
With rainwater so awash with gloom,
With dusk so laden with tears.
I am in love with the brightest days;
And guess who makes fall foliage appear,
With such dryness that is ever here,
With such droughts that are near?
I am in love with the brightest days;
And guess who shows the morning anew
And makes you swim across sweet daylight,
Who weeps for you outta cold nights?
I am in love with the brightest days;
And guess who makes daytime so sweet
That all souls roam about on their feet,
Who shall make the world alive?
I am in love with the brightest days;
I admire my soul’s reddish complex;
But others leave in their flamboyance,
Neglecting light by their arrogance.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That I have attained my shades anew
That I have my rose-gold to me,
That all is physical and lovely.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That all is alive and sees again,
That all is the heart of me and man,
That all is ****** and beauty.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That all that remains is putrid lust,
With a passion for flesh and dust,
With tongues on thine, and lips on mine.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That all that hurts becomes love,
That to desire has love awakened,
That love is flesh, love has shortened.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That all that pains becomes joy,
And there is misery in delights,
I only find love on moaning nights.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That the wrong has my saluted joy,
And all thy warmth shall turn to heat,
A heat that assaults and shan’t die.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That only evilness shall see my yule,
That only light leaves all breathless,
That only redness entertains me.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That moronic love shall foam their ways,
That all are lies that can destroy,
That all devours the sweetness of joy.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That such love of theirs comes from within,
Where I’ll be an unfaltering pain,
And my joys are a writhing abyss.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That I shall be the one to laugh,
To live and love of my own accord,
To sing a song with my weird chords.
I am in love with the brightest days;
The ones of everlasting fears,
That one shall be their own poor peril,
To come and go and shall come again.
I am in love with the brightest days;
The one in which no more can cheer,
That one shall consume their own evil,
To go and fade and have gone again.
I am in love with the brightest days;
I am not a beast to their pale sight,
Nor are they beastly to me;
They feed off my venom and my beauty.
I am in love with the brightest days;
I am not a poison to their light,
Nor are they poisonous to me;
They drink off my heat and my sea.
I am in love with the brightest days,
I am not too hesitant nor bashful,
I am not a love nor truth like rain,
I am not one of those Northern souls.
I am in love with the brightest days;
I am not the shy moon nor the sky,
I am not the bold nor the right,
I am the sin, not the Northern Light.
I am in love with the brightest days;
I am in love with not being love,
I am in love with not bringing love,
I am in love with not feeding love.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That all love shall be gone for good,
Nor are there facts to remain in truth,
All shall stay and die, as they should.
I am in love with the brightest days;
That love is pain all the night and day
That any living form shan’t live for long,
They are to fade within my robbed song.