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Oh, come to me in dreams, my love!
   I will not ask a dearer bliss;
Come with the starry beams, my love,
   And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.

’Twas thus, as ancient fables tell,
   Love visited a Grecian maid,
Till she disturbed the sacred spell,
   And woke to find her hopes betrayed.

But gentle sleep shall veil my sight,
   And Psyche’s lamp shall darkling be,
When, in the visions of the night,
   Thou dost renew thy vows to me.

Then come to me in dreams, my love,
   I will not ask a dearer bliss;
Come with the starry beams, my love,
   And press mine eyelids with thy kiss.
ill swallow
my words
ton by ton
and choke
on every
single
one.
This seems pretty weak, but I'm trying to get back into my writing. I've hit a rough patch, ran out of people to go to.
Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.
 Apr 2013 alyosha kris
Ayaba Babe
with every starry sky,
i still search for the big dipper.
stripping the constellations
searching for something bigger
than the compilation of love
or whatever it was
that we feathered through the sand that night.

that was the last time that we were together
you and i
lonesome
under the moonless sky
seen only by the eyes of God.
guided only by the light
and the might of the stars,
no matter where you are:

with every starry sky,
i still search for the big dipper.

every time our eyes collide
the constellations quiver
every time
you look into my eyes
i see you riding the tides of my skies
sliding along the slopes of my little dipper
abiding the strokes of my heart to beat quicker
searching for something bigger
than the compilation of love
or whatever it was
that we feathered through the sand that night.

that was the last time that we were together.
the weather has shifted many times since then,
it has now been awhile.
yet, still now
the compilation of your smile
is the only pile of shine
that can blind the vastness of my mind

every time

you look at me

i drown in the vastness of the seas
that flood the skies of your eyes
with every starry sky,
i still search for the big dipper.
upon it,
when both our eyes linger
i can feel the shiver
of the astronomical quiver

when i'm guided by the stars,

you never feel quite so far.
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,--
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,--
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
In the hour of death, after this life’s whim,
When the heart beats low, and the eyes grow dim,
And pain has exhausted every limb—
  The lover of the Lord shall trust in Him.

When the will has forgotten the lifelong aim,
And the mind can only disgrace its fame,
And a man is uncertain of his own name—
  The power of the Lord shall fill this frame.

When the last sigh is heaved, and the last tear shed,
And the coffin is waiting beside the bed,
And the widow and child forsake the dead—
  The angel of the Lord shall lift this head.

For even the purest delight may pall,
And power must fail, and the pride must fall,
And the love of the dearest friends grow small—
  But the glory of the Lord is all in all.
I write about love and I write about hate
I am a writer who was born to create

I am a writer
I write with a pen and I type with a whirl
I'm a writer, a poet, a creative girl.

I am a writer
Hear the whoosh of my pen
I am a writer and I'll say it again

Because I am a writer
I want to be heard
So I'll write every sentence with thought in each word

I write about love and all that is great
I am a writer who was born to create
She who did not come, wasn't she determined
nonetheless to organize and decorate my heart?
If we had to exist to become the one we love,
what would the heart have to create?

Lovely joy left blank, perhaps you are
the center of all my labors and my loves.
If I've wept for you so much, it's because
I preferred you among so many outlined joys.
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