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  Aug 2014 Sara
Robert Frost
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.
  Aug 2014 Sara
Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.
  Aug 2014 Sara
Sofia
Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.
This is the poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye,who died 10 years ago. It is written in 1932. I really like this poem,so I wanted to share it with you.
Sara Aug 2014
Give your tears to the tide.
Wash away your sorrows and your sighs.
Leave you feeling as radiant as the sun above,

the way you make me feel.
You use to make me this happy, now we don't say a word to each other.
Sara Aug 2014
You’ll be my 2 am thoughts, my 4 am texts. I’ll never stop thinking about you and your lovely eyes. I’ll attach myself to you so that you and everyone else around us knows you’re mine. I’ll cling onto you and never let you go, but I’ll do what makes you happy.
2. I’ll make a home out of you. I’ll run to you when I need to get away from everything, when I need to cry, lay down with someone. Your arms will become my bed and I won’t want to leave you for days.
3. My body isn’t beautiful. I am not gentle and graceful; I am sloppy and empty. My eyes have spilled the four oceans and are completely dry and dead. My bones stick out in unusual places that I have learned to hate from how much they make me ache. My tummy is round and large in my eyes, it takes up too much space and I grab it, I wish it would just disappear. I have tally marks cut into me from my worst days as reminders that I’m not mentally stable, that I struggle. My body can curl up into a ball so small that it makes me question if people can see right through me, if I even exist anymore.
4. I’m hard to love. I want what makes you happy, I don’t care about my happiness, because you will end up controlling it, and it scares me so bad. Your words will affect me more than I will show.
5. When you leave me, it will hurt me for days, for months. I’ll need to be constantly surrounded by people, or I’ll lock myself in the bathroom with my razor and pills. My body will break down, my world will crumble. My tears will be never ending and I’ll cry for you at night that I’ll have no voice in the morning. I won’t exist without you; I’ll completely lose my identity.
6. Lastly, I’ll write ****** poems like this about you.

— The End —