I’m sick of all these love songs
Written about another
Sonnets and odysseys
Desperate for a Lover

I want to enjoy the silence
Nihility subdue
Equally alone
As I am with you

I try to reflect Compassion
A metric of good health
Psuedo-neo Truism
Learn to “Love Thy Self”

Where have you gone?
Was it something they've said?
You've said "So long"
While there's still lines to be read

I miss your creative words
And the emotion that flows in you
They remind me of swords
Able to stab right through

You are a dreamer
A creator all your own
You are a father to your people
In times when you feel alone
And in our human right
A pool of blue flows through our veins
But if you were to bleed
Your blood would appear as ink

Have you put aside the pen
And pushed that dream away?
There's so much to write
About everything that happened today

You may be in a wrong place
Where nothing comes to mind
But there's another world for you
To just leave this one behind

You are a dreamer
A creator all your own
You are a father to your people
In times when you feel alone
And in our human right
A pool of blue flows through our veins
But if you were to bleed
Your blood would appear as ink

Oh, to gently enter the water’s embrace,
to be weighed down by
something other than my grief.
The currents look strong, the water rushing
and swirling, voracious in its appetite.
One by one, I drop the flowers into the water,
their petals leave the stems,
they are so bright and pretty against the clear blue swirling currents.
I am on the branch of a tree, gazing down after them,
my ***** blonde hair in my eyes.
Slowly, I prize my fingers off the branch,
and swing my legs over one side.
I jump.
The water is chilling, exhilarating.
I have never felt so alive.
My white dress gathers tightly around my ankles
and I can’t kick them free,
so I lean back, gazing at the green canopy above me,
looking at the bright glow of the flowers
swirling about my head.
Rosemary for remembrance,
pansies, rue and columbine,
daisies, sweet and innocent, like how I used to be.
The water rushes over my head;
I meet my watery grave; I think no more.

Ophelia, Ophelia,
voracious daydreamer,
how dare you
upset this delicate orbit.
your hands were the kiln
for my sloppy and misshapen mind,
but that was nothing,
relatively, compared to the way
your eyes reflected lost souls.
my dear, it's a catastrophe.

now when the moon chides me,
and the stars reek of your smile,
I run my hands across
the fronts of empty dresses
that you wore years ago.
Ophelia, Ophelia,
I recall the way your eyes shone
like the peak of madness
and how your shoulder blades
touched in a subtly avian manner.

how simple are the remnants
of your existence, of your melancholia,
I cling to them like a ***** to touch-
and I know they will bring you no closer.
stale shadows haunt my lingering eyes;
where you should be standing
I see only lost time.

Ophelia, Ophelia,
smoldering star in my hindsight,
stone in my chest-
I'm sad to see you go.

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,

the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back

from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere

except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle

of unobservable mysteries - roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This

I try to remember when time's measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn

flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay - how everything lives, shifting

from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.

She steps into the dark swamp
where the long wait ends.

The secret slippery package
drops to the weeds.

She leans her long neck and tongues it
between breaths slack with exhaustion

and after a while it rises and becomes a creature
like her, but much smaller.

So now there are two. And they walk together
like a dream under the trees.

In early June, at the edge of a field
thick with pink and yellow flowers

I meet them.
I can only stare.

She is the most beautiful woman
I have ever seen.

Her child leaps among the flowers,
the blue of the sky falls over me

like silk, the flowers burn, and I want
to live my life all over again, to begin again,

to be utterly
wild.

At night, when the sea cradles me
And the pale star gleam
Lies down on its broad waves,
Then I free myself wholly
From all activity and all the love
And stand silent and breathe purely,
Alone, alone cradled by the sea
That lies there, cold and silent, with a thousand lights.
Then I have to think of my friends
And my gaze sinks into their gazes
And I ask each one, silent, alone:
"Are you still mine"
Is my sorrow a sorrow to you, my death a death?
Do you feel from my love, my grief,
Just a breath, just an echo?"
And the sea peacefully gazes back, silent,
And smiles: no.
And no greeting and now answer comes from anywhere.

How heavy the days are.
There's not a fire that can warm me,
Not a sun to laugh with me,
Everything bare,
Everything cold and merciless,
And even the beloved, clear
Stars look desolately down,
Since I learned in my heart that
Love can die.

There was once a man
Who looked at the moon and asked
"Is there anything I could ask,
that you can answer?"
There was no reply,
as expected.

The next morning, there was a dog.
The man crouched down
in front of the dog and asked
"What are you up to today?"
The dog walked past,
as expected.

In the afternoon, there was a girl.
She was sitting on a bench in the park.
The man sat beside her and asked
"Are you waiting for someone?"
She kept gazing at the sunset,
as expected.

Night falls in a pub in the city.
There's a drunken man, had many bottles.
The man approached him and asked
"Is something the matter?"
The man finally collapsed after too much drinks,
as expected.

Lastly, in a room there are antiques.
One is a mirror in an intricate frame.
The man looked at the mirror and asked
"How do you feel today?"
There was no reflection,
as expected.