1293

The things we thought that we should do
We other things have done
But those peculiar industries
Have never been begun—

The Lands we thought that we should seek
When large enough to run
By Speculation ceded
To Speculation’s Son—

The Heaven, in which we hoped to pause
When Discipline was done
Untenable to Logic
But possibly the one—

You bound strong sandals on my feet,
You gave me bread and wine,
And sent me under sun and stars,
For all the world was mine.

Oh, take the sandals off my feet,
You know not what you do;
For all my world is in your arms,
My sun and stars are you.

Into my heart’s treasury
I slipped a coin
That time cannot take
Nor a thief purloin, —
Oh better than the minting
Of a gold-crowned king
Is the safe-kept memory
Of a lovely thing.

God bless the poets!
The pollinators they are!
The architects of the soul's garden,
The rain-bringer of sleeping seeds,
The ones who witness and testify
The pain of growth,
Applaud the blooming,
And invite the bees.

If I could catch a rainbow,
I'd do so just for you
So you could share its beauty
On the days you're feeling blue.

If I could, I'd buy an island
You could call it your very own,
A place to find serenity,
Where you could be alone.

If I could take your troubles
I'd throw them in the sea,
But all these things I'm finding
Are impossible for me.

'Cause I can't buy an island
Nor catch a rainbow fair,
So I'll just do what I do best:
Be someone who's always there.

my chest
doesn't scream --
it hums
with a stabbing pain
too polite
to interupt.

my soul
it still reaches
for hands
that no longer
reach back
to me.