So many stones have been thrown at me,
That I'm not frightened of them anymore,
And the pit has become a solid tower,
Tall among tall towers.
I thank the builders,
May care and sadness pass them by.
From here I'll see the sunrise earlier,
Here the sun's last ray rejoices.
And into the windows of my room
The northern breezes often fly.
And from my hand a dove eats grains of wheat...
As for my unfinished page,
The Muse's tawny hand, divinely calm
And delicate, will finish it.

I came to know that all is borrowed,
even time
One day I bought a property, thinking it mine
as if I could somehow claim it - that which is truly wild,
perhaps appears temporarily tamed
shall one day be reclaimed,
swallowed by time
no memory,
no name

Thy fingers make early flowers
of all things.
thy hair mostly the hours love:
a smoothness which
sings,saying
(though love be a day)
do not fear,we will go amaying.

thy whitest feet crisply are straying.
Always
thy moist eyes are at kisses playing,
whose strangeness much
says;singing
(though love be a day)
for which girl art thou flowers bringing?

To be thy lips is a sweet thing
and small.
Death,thee i call rich beyond wishing
if this thou catch,
else missing.
(though love be a day
and life be nothing,it shall not stop kissing).

We’re so good
So good at repetition
Make the same mistake twice
Broken glass still mirrors ice
Wrong still feels right
It was never easier to fight
So darkness hides all night
And good never shows its ugly face
And with every rattling chain
Weighed by rattling pain
We’re caught up in yesterday’s familiar embrace
The past reestablishes its place
We’re so good
So good at repetition

There is nothing more powerful or more dangerous
than Hope
Even a thin, barely existent, nearly transparent wisp of it
can be devastating
It's a mist that floats into your mind
infecting your brain
with possibilities and images
of what should be, what could be, what will never be
Entirely plausible wishes and dreams
that leave crippling wounds
when they don't come true