suetommy - Hello Poetry

An angel on earth was found and blessed by a wonderful lover forever, But this angel fell and she fell far, so far her lover could not retrieve her. She loves him still and always will; even with her heart stretched by so many who love her so completely. Her heart has plenty of room to enfold more to love and care about. But she lost her midnight blue, her silver cherubs running too fast, spread too thinly. She sits on nearby riverbanks late at night watching the waters flow; crying for those she loves the most, those she believes she can help no longer. She cannot help herself enough to give way to some of the great ***** passions she believes cannot be met by him and he loves her from the bottom of his heart. The angel is so loved by so many, but cannot accept help; will not accept help, because she has fallen into a dark hole that has stolen her wings. She kicks and screams like a beautiful stallion all alone trying to get out of the waters of the dark hole. She is all alone and it is late at night, midnight blue with many silverly stars above. The midnight blue starry skies watch and silver cherubs remind her of their love and needs. She wonders why she lusted so much, and he is glad she did. Did he tell her so? Forgive such a sin an angel feels. In love all is fair. Save her, let her know. Show her in oh so many ways!

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Dec 15, 2014

Dec 15, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC

suetommy

Carol Z-H, angel PhD

An angel on earth was found and blessed by a wonderful lover forever, But this angel fell and she fell far, so far her lover could not retrieve her. She loves him still and always will; even with her heart stretched by so many who love her so completely. Her heart has plenty of room to enfold more to love and care about. But she lost her midnight blue, her silver cherubs running too fast, spread too thinly. She sits on nearby riverbanks late at night watching the waters flow; crying for those she loves the most, those she believes she can help no longer. She cannot help herself enough to give way to some of the great ***** passions she believes cannot be met by him and he loves her from the bottom of his heart. The angel is so loved by so many, but cannot accept help; will not accept help, because she has fallen into a dark hole that has stolen her wings. She kicks and screams like a beautiful stallion all alone trying to get out of the waters of the dark hole. She is all alone and it is late at night, midnight blue with many silverly stars above. The midnight blue starry skies watch and silver cherubs remind her of their love and needs. She wonders why she lusted so much, and he is glad she did. Did he tell her so? Forgive such a sin an angel feels. In love all is fair. Save her, let her know. Show her in oh so many ways!

6

593 I think I was enchanted When first a sombre Girl— I read that Foreign Lady— The Dark—felt beautiful— And whether it was noon at night— Or only Heaven—at Noon— For very Lunacy of Light I had not power to tell— The Bees—became as Butterflies— The Butterflies—as Swans— Approached—and spurned the narrow Grass— And just the meanest Tunes That Nature murmured to herself To keep herself in Cheer— I took for Giants—practising Titanic Opera— The Days—to Mighty Metres stept— The Homeliest—adorned As if unto a Jubilee ’Twere suddenly confirmed— I could not have defined the change— Conversion of the Mind Like Sanctifying in the Soul— Is witnessed—not explained— ’Twas a Divine Insanity— The Danger to be Sane Should I again experience— ’Tis Antidote to turn— To Tomes of solid Witchcraft— Magicians be asleep— But Magic—hath an Element Like Deity—to keep—

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suetommy

Sep 15, 2014

Sep 15, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC

Emily Dickinson

I think I was enchanted

593 I think I was enchanted When first a sombre Girl— I read that Foreign Lady— The Dark—felt beautiful— And whether it was noon at night— Or only Heaven—at Noon— For very Lunacy of Light I had not power to tell— The Bees—became as Butterflies— The Butterflies—as Swans— Approached—and spurned the narrow Grass— And just the meanest Tunes That Nature murmured to herself To keep herself in Cheer— I took for Giants—practising Titanic Opera— The Days—to Mighty Metres stept— The Homeliest—adorned As if unto a Jubilee ’Twere suddenly confirmed— I could not have defined the change— Conversion of the Mind Like Sanctifying in the Soul— Is witnessed—not explained— ’Twas a Divine Insanity— The Danger to be Sane Should I again experience— ’Tis Antidote to turn— To Tomes of solid Witchcraft— Magicians be asleep— But Magic—hath an Element Like Deity—to keep—

33

I am afraid to send my poetry Afraid to have you read Afraid of distain. My fragile self loves poetic waves, seas, and skies and language twists, But my fears of you imprison my most lovely state and I fear I cannot escape.

0

Sep 15, 2014

Sep 15, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC

suetommy

An Attempt

I am afraid to send my poetry Afraid to have you read Afraid of distain. My fragile self loves poetic waves, seas, and skies and language twists, But my fears of you imprison my most lovely state and I fear I cannot escape.

8

1764 The saddest noise, the sweetest noise, The maddest noise that grows,— The birds, they make it in the spring, At night’s delicious close. Between the March and April line— That magical frontier Beyond which summer hesitates, Almost too heavenly near. It makes us think of all the dead That sauntered with us here, By separation’s sorcery Made cruelly more dear. It makes us think of what we had, And what we now deplore. We almost wish those siren throats Would go and sing no more. An ear can break a human heart As quickly as a spear, We wish the ear had not a heart So dangerously near.

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suetommy

Sep 15, 2014

Sep 15, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC

Emily Dickinson

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise

1764 The saddest noise, the sweetest noise, The maddest noise that grows,— The birds, they make it in the spring, At night’s delicious close. Between the March and April line— That magical frontier Beyond which summer hesitates, Almost too heavenly near. It makes us think of all the dead That sauntered with us here, By separation’s sorcery Made cruelly more dear. It makes us think of what we had, And what we now deplore. We almost wish those siren throats Would go and sing no more. An ear can break a human heart As quickly as a spear, We wish the ear had not a heart So dangerously near.

21

1680 Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few—love at all.

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suetommy

Jun 6, 2014

Jun 6, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC

Emily Dickinson

Sometimes with the Heart

1680 Sometimes with the Heart Seldom with the Soul Scarcer once with the Might Few—love at all.

5