917

Love—is anterior to Life—
Posterior—to Death—
Initial of Creation, and
The Exponent of Earth—

Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness

And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn

The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not ******
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.

Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.

Sweetheart, I hope you go to heaven when you die. For you've been living in hell this whole time.

I want to.
I really want to.
But I can't,
I can't get you out of my head.
And that's frustrating,
That simply freaks me out.
Because my thoughts are all about you,
You,
You,
And you.
And that makes me sick.
I don't like it,
I don't like how you have so much power in me.
But I can't.
I tried.
But I can't.
I can't get you out of my head.
My brain can't forget something that still has a place in my heart.

My hands tremble,
As I see you.
Love?
Fear?
No.
I tremble* because I know you are the same as I.
A demon on earth.

My words,
Have a lot more to say than you think.
My poems,
Have hidden feelings in them.
My outside,
It's not all that I have.
I have a inside too.
And every word,
Every poem of mine,
Is the same as I.