IX

Can it be right to give what I can give?
To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears
As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative
Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live
For all thy adjurations? O my fears,
That this can scarce be right! We are not peers,
So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,
That givers of such gifts as mine are, must
Be counted with the ungenerous. Out, alas!
I will not soil thy purple with my dust,
Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,
Nor give thee any love—which were unjust.
Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass.

decayed immortal nurses wander through my halloween hospital,
cleaning neverending septic corridors where nothing
but  light blinds i and deafness is welcome to Me
to mute the sound of the sizzling ashed bodies.

they locked up father and cast aside mother,
while in the warm morgue they collected i’s
frozen heart to surprise those still who
wait for reprieve from down under.

i met them that dusty clear day (evening)
tracked (trailed) Me then choke chained i’s ankles and
dragged i to the ground where they
pierced what remained of i’s brain with their
sharp jabbing needles.

emotions (Thoughts) keep waiting.
(Hoping).
“COME STOP ME” come stop (i).
night has lost the wait for the scavenge
to come to an end.

descending
through this dream
(hole),
GO AWAY.

****,
(i) lost the clues
caged now,
where only me,
(I)
Holds the key.

when you see the world in black and white
you can't see the difference between wrong or right
clouded eyes seen so much deception
but really it's all about perception
and how the world will spin & turn
will you drown or will you burn?
in your sorrows or fueled by fire
life is half battles, half desire
will you choose to stand and fight
behind every darkness there's a light
if it's worth it in the end
you won't break, maybe bend
this world has tears that are not yours to cry
so will you crumble or will you fly?
is your cup half full or becoming empty
seek the beauty because there's plenty
if you can see it in your mind
there's always truth that you will find
and you can hold it in your hand
if you take the time to understand
that you hold the key to everything

Cup of coffee, a cigarette,
The desire to describe a day;
Over these words, I wince and fret.

A clock chimes it's infinite way
Eroding hours till all lights gray.

Day of leisure, a life well set,
A wish the clock would slow or stay;
This loss of light, I'll soon regret.

The moments quickly slip away
Into the twilights dying splay.

Time spent fishing, from age be let,
And hope that many swim this bay;
Hours levied, against chance I'll bet.

The suns grand retreat seems to say
My stellar prize has gone astray.

Cup of coffee, a cigarette,
The sadness of a wasted day;
Over words, still I wince and fret.

As clocks chime their infinite way
Eroding hours till all lights gray.

I miss the way things used to be
The way things were
Between you and me
Things have just gotten harder
And I just can't see
Is it you
Or is it me?
So down I've been
Feeling so hurt and sore
I've come to you for comfort
Like I always have
But you pin it back on me
Making me feel worse
"That doesn't sound like him"
My good friend has said
I agree
It sounds like someone else instead.
I can't see
Is it you or is it me?
"I give up" you said
That phrase hasn't left my head
Since you've said it
A part of me gave up as well
If you truly mean it
I can't believe it.
Is it you or is it me?
Perhaps it is both
A reaction to an action
Just over and over
Reacting and reacting
A volatile reaction
Only made worst by time
If you'd only react differently
Say a different word
If I'd only do differently
Then surely we could be
Is it you or is it me?
So afraid I'll drive you away
I can't keep on crying alone
Night after night
Fight after fight
It takes it's toll.
What happened to the rest?
What happened to the words we said?
Always talking love
Always talking passion
Have we forgotten?
Some say passion must die
To replace it with the mundane
I refuse.
Until our dying day my love will be passionate
And I will fight with passion
Without passion it just doesn't seem worth it
Where did our passion go?
Where did the words of our beauty go?
Where did the words of our undying love disappear to?
No longer is there late night talks
Of our future and love
Few and far between are the looks of longing
Look into each others' eyes and peer deep
See the person you fell in love with
And fall in love with them all over again
Remember the love
And remember that it's still there.
I miss the way things were
And I know you do, too
Between you and me.

i think in a way,
i can sense sadness.
and even though it's different for everyone,
sadness has a way of sensing me, too.

i've always been attracted to those types of people.
you know the kind i'm talking about.
with their sad smiles, and deep eyes.
the kind of people who have a story,
the kind of people who have scars.

those people are my kind of people.
you, first, with your parents divorce,
and your bottled up rage,
and the bruises you gave to me in the middle of the night,
in the bedroom on the first floor,
while everyone else was asleep.
the sadness you carried turned into rage,
and i fought to keep you in check.

and then you,
with your closet secrets,
and the dust swept under your rug.
your sadness seeped through those guards on your eyes,
and found its way right into my heart.
you etched yourself into my life,
until the sadness you felt,
i felt myself,
and your soft touches,
and sweet words,
melted into me.
and then it was all gone,
taken away in a flash,
and you walked away without a second glance.

you, next,
with your ever lasting smiles,
and modest attitude.
you never understand how much fun you are,
because you're so focused and caught up in being sad.
i saw stories in your eyes,
and the more stories i heard,
the more i learned why you were sad all the time.
but i wish the most for you, and i wish more than anything that you could be happy.
but sad people well,
they're made to be sad.
but you kept me in check.
we would talk for hours,
about pet names, and would you rathers,
and truths that i told no one but you.
and for awhile there,
i thought you could make me happy.
but our sadness together was too much,
and i ran and hid from the happiness
that i might have found in you.

you, finally,
you weren't the saddest,
or the happiest.
in fact, when i met you,
i didnt even think you were a sad person.
until i saw what she did to you,
how she broke you.
you are sad,
but because of your secrets.
because there's nothing else for you to do but hide.
you should be able to be yourself,
and live your life how you want to.

thats the thing though,
about sadness,
us sad people,
we cling to it.
we hold on to it.
and we learn to depend on it.
because,
"you can get addicted to certain kind of sadness."
and thats that.

How strange to greet, this frosty morn,
In graceful counterfeit of flower,
These children of the meadows, born
Of sunshine and of showers!

How well the conscious wood retains
The pictures of its flower-sown home,
The lights and shades, the purple stains,
And golden hues of bloom!

It was a happy thought to bring
To the dark season's frost and rime
This painted memory of spring,
This dream of summertime.

Our hearts are lighter for its sake,
Our fancy's age renews its youth,
And dim-remembered fictions take
The guise of present truth.

A wizard of the Merrimac,--
So old ancestral legends say,--
Could call green leaf and blossom back
To frosted stem and spray.

The dry logs of the cottage wall,
Beneath his touch, put out their leaves;
The clay-bound swallow, at his call,
Played round the icy eaves.

The settler saw his oaken flail
Take bud, and bloom before his eyes;
From frozen pools he saw the pale
Sweet summer lilies rise.

To their old homes, by man profaned
Came the sad dryads, exiled long,
And through their leafy tongues complained
Of household use and wrong.

The beechen platter sprouted wild,
The pipkin wore its old-time green,
The cradle o'er the sleeping child
Became a leafy screen.

Haply our gentle friend hath met,
While wandering in her sylvan quest,
Haunting his native woodlands yet,
That Druid of the West;

And while the dew on leaf and flower
Glistened in the moonlight clear and still,
Learned the dusk wizard's spell of power,
And caught his trick of skill.

But welcome, be it new or old,
The gift which makes the day more bright,
And paints, upon the ground of cold
And darkness, warmth and light!

Without is neither gold nor green;
Within, for birds, the birch-logs sing;
Yet, summer-like, we sit between
The autumn and the spring.

The one, with bridal blush of rose,
And sweetest breath of woodland balm,
And one whose matron lips unclose
In smiles of saintly calm.

Fill soft and deep, O winter snow!
The sweet azalea's oaken dells,
And hide the banks where roses blow
And swing the azure bells!

O'erlay the amber violet's leaves,
The purple aster's brookside home,
Guard all the flowers her pencil gives
A live beyond their bloom.

And she, when spring comes round again,
By greening ***** and singing flood
Shall wander, seeking, not in vain
Her darlings of the wood.

His teeth are crooked, bent and brown
   he grins with mirth, eyes pointing down
   his hollow head contains a thought
   friendly, yes but pleasant, not.

His whims, in fact, are quite alarming
   for what's on his mind is harming.

He wants to steal and take what's mine!

Alas! Why must Death be charming?