Love seeketh not Itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care;
But for another gives its ease,
And builds Heaven in Hell's despair.

  So sang a little Clod of Clay,
  Trodden with the cattle feet;
  But a pebble of the brook,
  Warbled out these meters meet.

Love seeketh only Itself to please,
To bind another to Its delight;
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.

A little black thing among the snow,
Crying! ‘weep! weep!’ in notes of woe!
‘Where are thy father and mother?  Say!’—
‘They are both gone up to the church to pray.

‘Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smiled among the winter’s snow,
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

‘And because I am happy and dance and sing,
They think they have done me no injury,
And are gone to praise God and His priest and king,
Who made up a heaven of our misery.’

Is there a more obvious truth to life?
Nothing stays, you know it too.
So why get upset when they leave?
You never stayed,
You are not who you used to be,
I am not who I used to be,
So why get upset when the trees shed their leaves?
Why get upset when the serpent sheds its skin?
Why get upset when moments pass?

Nothing ever stays,
People die,
people leave,
people are like the autumn breeze,
Sometimes warm and sometimes cold,
Sometimes happy, sometimes bold,
They may upset, they may not,
They may love you, and they may hate,
Feelings change, people change,
Mindsets change, everything is always moving.

You cannot stand still on a platform that swirls in air,
You cannot hang on to things,
To live, you must fly with it
Like the leaves riding on winter wind,
Join this harmonious grief,
For when one dies another is born,
When leaves fall, others grow,
When one leaves, you have place for another,
This is life.
There is nothing to mourn.

Live for yourself,
For you only have yourself in the end.

“I believe a strong woman may be stronger than a man, particularly if she happens to have love in her heart. I guess a loving woman is indestructible.”

You are the tears I wish to shed,
You are all my words unsaid,
You are the feelings I've long lost,
You are all the thoughts that suddenly gust
into my head, on winter nights,
You are the nostalgia in my heart,
You are the memories of cold departs,
You are  all the goodbyes that I've said,
You are the very poems I've read,
You are life itself,
You are the image of by gone days...

You come and sit with me a while
and disappear like autumn's breeze
And all you leave
is a memory
which, too, will die
with me.

And a woman who held a babe against her ***** said, "Speak to us of
Children."

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you
with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that
is stable.

i am currently working on publishing my poetry into a collection
i don't expect to make any money
nor do i imagine that i will gain any popularity
but this is an accomplishment that has added motivation and excitement into my life
i know it will be difficult and draining
but wish me the best of luck