She walks in beauty, like the night
     Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
     Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
     Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
     Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
     Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
     How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
     So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
     But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
     A heart whose love is innocent!

another story on the news.

no, he says.
the problem in this country
isn’t guns. it’s morals.

he loads another bullet.

I feel bad for the Moon who burns my skin
It wasn’t her fault, but rather her lover’s
Skin once milky white -
Now swathed in blistery red
What was once a warm embrace -
Now needles in my veins
That deceiving Sun
Who once kissed my flesh into a blush
Has abandoned me to the agony of nightfall
And here I sway among a sea of grass caked in Summer's tears
Shaking my fist angrily at the Moon
Whose glow neither harms nor heals me -
But reveals her lover's trickery

darling—

i almost made it out
the house
down the slanted
           concrete
                      steps
i nearly passed the garden gate
with tired
        ivy
            crawlers
for a moment i thought i was free
no ghosts
       no ashen memories—
But bags in hand i couldn't help
and took
     a glance
            behind.

my lover, she baptized herself in blood;
my lover, she reeks, reeks of
everything the postman hasn't told her.

my lover, she baptized herself in blood;
my lover, she talks, talks of
life back in between waters and death.

my love, my love, my love,

wont let me sing a sonnet to her
before her body reeks of
fertilizers and plants i'll leave in

her jigsaw puzzle skull.
my lover, she reeks, reeks of
nostalgia i cant withstand.

my love, my love, my love.
my lover, she reeks, reeks of
her clothes at home i called death.

oh,
my Lover, she baptized herself in blood.

- eozyoh. 21.01.2018

O, rolling river of silvery shore,
Take me to my home once more;
I'm weary and tired,
My soul is spent,
And my body will water the fields.
Will water the fields
Above the clouds,
In gentle, whispering vales.

For love! (For love!)
Endure! (Endure!)
Hosanna! my enduring love,
Forever!

Carry me on,
Carry me swiftly to ashen groves,
The rocks that will become my home;
And lay me on the Roman road,
Where travelers may remark.
They may remark,
When passing by,
With chariots on their wings:

For shame! (For shame!)
For grief! (For grief!)
Oh! a kind-hearted fellow was he;
May he rest in lasting peace,
Forever!