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As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart,
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,
O’ercharged with burden of mine own love’s might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
    O, learn to read what silent love hath writ,
    To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.
-gabi p- Feb 25
it's cold, and it is dry
the biting harsh air enters
unknowing, adrift lungs; as i cough
and scream-cry from the pain,
confused, useless eyelids glued shut
i thrash aimlessly around
looking for anything, anyone -
there. soft, giving skin
everywhere, envelops
embraces.

the light is as blinding
as it is welcome,
but i have never seen;
the sound of familiar laughter is
new all the same
for i have never heard,
never felt such intense -
i have never, so i
    simply feel.

oh, to be born yet again
not from safe womb
- for i know too much already,
have seen too many days -
but within my-self.
i want to live like i haven't seen it all before
My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear;
That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming
The owner’s tongue doth publish everywhere.
Our love was new, and then but in the spring
When I was wont to greet it with my lays,
As Philomel in summer’s front doth sing,
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days—
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough,
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
    Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue,
    Because I would not dull you with my song.
-gabi p- Jan 19
how unlike stars we are!

they have been there
for longer than the soil
under your feet can remember.
their timid flicker constant before our eyes,
an eternal pattern drawn on the dark skies.
while we, ephemeral beings, are born and die,
stars, forever above, watch, wise.

and yet, as the night falls,
as those stars seemingly shine
in perfect and close union,
in truth, they are most scattered
across the infinite Space.
while some, as far as can be,
are woven into mystical fabric
on the frontiers of the Universe
others are just within
a single galaxy's reach
(oh, to stretch my arms above
and touch a star's warm fingers!)

so when we lay our small heads
on the pliant grass
and turn our eyes up to the night sky;
when we see constellations made from those
eternal diamonds of light,
in truthful honesty,
we see a lie.
for stars are, for what it counts,
entirely alone.

(perhaps we are not so unlike stars, after all.)
-gabi p- Dec 2018
listen to me! we heard him cry,
a blur against the steel-blue Dusk.
but no one would take any warnings
against what we had learned to trust.

the gentle lies we tell ourselves!
lest we endure the stab of truth.
now they were naught but strangled ashes
which had once worn the mask of hope.

from the warm fire of our people
drops of wax flowed down, like tears
and they asked me: "why do you cry?"
"well", i answered,
with my hands blue, and my eyes wide,
"i've held on to the truth for too long now."
and there was no escaping Time.
a "found poem" i wrote in english class about the book "night", by elie wiesel
  Oct 2018 -gabi p-
Martina
You're far away.

Or maybe I am
talking is hard
because we can't find the time
but I want you to stay
a parto fo my life.

We'll do out best
to stay as close friends
we'll try our hardest
to fight the distance
to suvive this.

And when we do
we'll know blessings exist
and that our connestion
and love
will pesist.
-gabi p- Oct 2018
have you heard the legend of Calypso?
   doomed to live a century of solitude,
   until the cruel gods sent her
someone
   she couldn't help
            but
              love.
am i cursed like the daughter of a titan?

  do you know about the Fox?
  tamed by a golden-haired
    friend;
  untrusting of all other humans,
    only to have him go away.

and i can't help but
           cry
          a
         little
  when i hear the wind
   on the wheat-fields,
for they remind me of you.
we had such little time.
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