Once I heard somebody say

"Many moons ago"
Referring to the past

It never made much sense to me
There was only one moon I could see

Now you're in the fading phase
Becoming one of many moons I knew

Young dumb and stupid
She was beautiful,  smart and exquisite.
But at the same time hurt, naive, and in love.
She gave her all to someone who didn't even know how to love himself
She learned him, changed for him, she made him her life
Only in return to receive hurt, guilt and strife
Sitting and crying ever ******* night
No exit, no escape, besides the metal of that beautiful, shining exquisite knife.
She was young dumb and stupid.
Wrong. She was young, dumb, and scared.
She gave up who she was, she gave up her life
For a man who didn't even love himself.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

721

Behind Me—dips Eternity—
Before Me—Immortality—
Myself—the Term between—
Death but the Drift of Eastern Gray,
Dissolving into Dawn away,
Before the West begin—

’Tis Kingdoms—afterward—they say—
In perfect—pauseless Monarchy—
Whose Prince—is Son of None—
Himself—His Dateless Dynasty—
Himself—Himself diversify—
In Duplicate divine—

’Tis Miracle before Me—then—
’Tis Miracle behind—between—
A Crescent in the Sea—
With Midnight to the North of Her—
And Midnight to the South of Her—
And Maelstrom—in the Sky—

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.

54

If I should die,
And you should live—
And time should gurgle on—
And morn should beam—
And noon should burn—
As it has usual done—
If Birds should build as early
And Bees as bustling go—
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
’Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with Daisies lie—
That Commerce will continue—
And Trades as briskly fly—
It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene—
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!

1680

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

I want to be your
inner constellations.
Filling up your head with
stardust and lust;
bright longings that break
your dark thoughts
on lonely nights.

Like a shooting star I'll
burst across neurons,
burning light on
receptors that ache.
Igniting the shimmers of
glimmering memories.

When you look at the stars,
I hope it'll never be the same.