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.

i wrote a lot of great poetry when i was in love
i wrote even better poetry when i was in pain
i wrote the best poetry when i realized that the two emotions were actually the same.

you were looking at a shattered mirror
you thought I was the moon
laid long by your sorrows
i carefully tried to deflect your hopeful eyes
i pleaded for you to forget the past
but the clouds hid my meaning

you were listening to a flower whisper
you remembered it as a scar
a dandelion blown by caution
a heart trembling while sleeping
you were unable to open your eyes
but my dreams became your own

you once thought morals meant something
you learned it was only pride
a burning mind finally decided
nothing would be hard that you can make easy
once a mirror sees its purpose
a kiss can find the things you once lost

Mellow pills slipping from my fingers;
I'm helpless to your vacancy here.

I will waltz with your shadow.
But I don't really think I can dance.

Come home and teach me.

Rest with me.
Leave me in the end,
But come home.

No words, just your eyes,
Your touch, just your smile,
your smell leaves me wanting more
I am weak when I am with you
Intoxicated by the touch of your lips
let this fire burn within for ever
I see not, I hear not
One love, one heartbeat within

I started the process of memorizing you today

35 freckles on your right shoulder and a break in the cartilage on your right ear near the top was as far as I got

I think even if I have 100 more years in your arms, I'll never know how many individual hairs you have on your chin or why you sound like you're dying when you sleep

What an exciting thought
To never know all of you

I don't know if your I love you means what it means for me
Someday maybe I will

Or maybe I'll spend my whole life trying
To hear all your thoughts behind
the words
I love you

This is the natural born hero
With sins inside his own head
To much of a hero to let them out
To much of a martyr to not let people now
A sad life
A sad excuse for living
That's all I am
An excuse for sadness