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Wish there
Was a change among
My life and your life
So then maybe
  we can put it in a picture frame
  to see how we made those
  Changes
    So my life isn't plain like it has been
For the past 16 years
dying is that a little girl x63
going into dust as from which
came her just sixty three years
ago not loved once within
them or met with the kind
smile of anyone but her old
little cat that just as her within
became as into dust like
(From which they were breathed)
that 63 years ago pile of used to be
Thou wast that all to me, love,
  For which my soul did pine—
A green isle in the sea, love,
  A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!
  Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
  A voice from out the Future cries,
“On! on!”—but o’er the Past
  (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!

For, alas! alas! with me
  The light of Life is o’er!
“No more—no more—no more”—
(Such language holds the solemn sea
  To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
  Or the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances,
  And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances,
  And where thy footstep gleams—
In what ethereal dances,
  By what eternal streams!

Alas! for that accursed time
  They bore thee o’er the billow,
From love to titled age and crime,
  And an unholy pillow!
From me, and from our misty clime,
  Where weeps the silver willow!
life

                          
                                ­                              is


                      
                      a


             ­ question


    till


    the

    last

   **day
I'm on the ground
head buried between my scabbed knees
And tears keep pouring and pouring not stopping to breathe
I've held myself up for so long
but now the misery has caught back up to me
So all I can do is sit here in my tears and sink
Serene screaming,
A loud silence deafens
The sound of waves
As they engulf the craggy pedestal
She herself shaped,
Atop of which she coaxes
And extracts the very soul
Of those once stoic men
Doomed to the depths
Of these unforgiving seas -

None else could possess a voice so peculiar
As did she,
I hope she'd be so kind as to lend her song
To me.
An idea I wanted to expand on after 'The Siren's Song to My Ballad'.

Revised 06.04.17
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