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You move through air
with
the
surety of spectacular,
neither hidden or waiting
just there and full
of nothing but what is,
bursting from
this and no more,
only this and what is
and no seek to soar.
We must not forget
to acknowledge the stillness
that lives around us.
The rain set early in tonight,
      The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
      And did its worst to vex the lake:
      I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
      She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
      Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
      Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
      And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
      And, last, she sat down by my side
      And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
      And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
      And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
      And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me—she
      Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavor,
To set its struggling passion free
      From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
      And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
      Nor could tonight’s gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
      For love of her, and all in vain:
      So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
      Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshiped me: surprise
      Made my heart swell, and still it grew
      While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
      Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
      In one long yellow string I wound
      Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
      I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
      I warily oped her lids: again
      Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
      About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
      I propped her head up as before
      Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
      The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
      That all it scorned at once is fled,
      And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how
      Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
      And all night long we have not stirred,
      And yet God has not said a word!
I hear them all,
I hear them say:
This Love you feel,
Is not meant to stay.

This love is so strange
It'll drive you mad
Smiling through tears
At the thought of what you had.


I hear them whisper, "we are nothing but blind"
Their voices get tangled in my mind.
They question me
And never let me see
When will they just let this love be?
 Oct 2015 Dr PRERNA SINGLA
Day
Which side of the looking glass
am I even in?
Does is even matter?
I can hate myself a million ways whenever I see you
because I know you don't want me
the way that you fawn over her
It's ridiculous that I feel so small
in comparison to her lean shadow
but I'm never the one
I'm not surprised
because when has it ever been me?
I'm the bridge for my friends
boys leaving footprints along my back
as they run to somebody else with open arms
despite the way I feel whenever I see you
I know that it is not mutual
and she will always be more than I
when i hate myself for having a crush
 Sep 2015 Dr PRERNA SINGLA
Shaf
I want to feel loved as well. I'm tired of trying.
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