This too well
do I know:
the world
doesn't need me
not at all

but
I'm within it
away I can't go-

with my weaknesses
my failings
my foibles
even such so
my path
therein I'll set
my will
I'll follow

my right
my intrinsic self
the world
can never overthrow!

My ally
is always nigh
whether it's day
or night

walking faithfully
by my side
in every stride
I'm set right-

its image
is in my mirror
whenever
I look inside

Poetry
life's sublimest vibrancy:
every human sentiment captured
all beauty, enraptured

It can wait---the universe-
  understand yourself first

The best cure
is found--verily
in not being ill-
this is the surest therapy!

Life -
to have meaning
has to be lived
with some tension
even with defiance
lest it begins
to fade and sag
in its tameness
comfort, staleness
and acquiescence

it never does escape
the ****** and force
of the vagaries
of circumstance
which stare
in our faces
and challenge
and test us-
we are losers
if we bow out
in any instance

here
in a lonely corner
I stand
buffeted by storms
and turmoil
but remain
unfazed
and unshaken-
my every inner resource
I'll freely draw upon
every ounce
of courage
I'll summon
undaunted
as to the contour
of the future
I valiantly glance!

There's a point beyond which pain can no longer hurt the sufferer
as the person has overcome the greatest sorrow that has come his way.

Indeed, the spirit of man is infinitely stronger than the harshest sling of fate.  In this epiphany, he becomes larger than life and death, and emerges, as an uncrowned hero, though known to none else.

So much have I suffered in my illness and loneliness, with love never in sight,  but I've come to accept this suffering as it gives me meaning and the will to live my life every moment to the fullest.

My poetry is my prayer and my religion which give me the courage and strength to endure my daily pain. Of late, my cough has worsened and the weight on my lungs has been unbearable and I pray it will subside the next day.

Suffering doesn't diminish beauty which I've found in my writing, my love of life, of nature, of those I love and the truth in my heart.
I'm certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.

If I were to die upon the morrow, I'll have no cause for regret as my life has been lived to the fullest and as I've been touched by beauty which is too sublime for words to describe.

( * Keats died a week aged 25 after this from consumption which had no cure at that time)