They told me
It was as if
Life loved me;

But I told them
That life is an unfaithful lover;
It only cares for you
When you are at your happiest
And seems to put you down
At your worst.

The secret
Is to love life
Even through the times
When the love seems unrequited.

Old folks on the porch
Rocking gently, hearts entwined,
Holding hands and slightly smiling
As their memories unwind.

"Do you remember when," she said.
He said, "Of course, you know I do,"
"The first time that we met; we kissed;
And when I said that I love you."

"Well what about the time," she said.
"Oh yes," he said, "I do recall,
"The year we bought this house, this land,
"Sometime in the early fall."

They sat and talked for hours that day
As birds performed a symphony,
They spoke a while of years gone by;
They feared the loss of memory.

"You know, I think it's time," she said.
"Yes," he said, "this is the day."
They kissed and hugged while holding hands.
They knew it had to end this way.

They held the guns up to their heads
While quietly he lit the torch,
There was nothing left but ashes of,
Old folks on the porch.

I'm like a pencil,
you can use me for now,
but eventually I'll break.

A pirouette on the moon
and foxtrot with Jupiter
dancing with the stars
a peculiar experience
one I won't get to see
probably for the best
I hear mars has two left feet
and anyway
How would you breath
in space.

Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

The woods around it have it—it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.

And lonely as it is, that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less—
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars—on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

This is a Robert Frost poem I forgot to have put this down

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the ****** and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to ***** up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?