I miss you sea
I miss you in the morning
I miss your fingers
and the faces you trace
the faces you assume in sand
I miss the feel of you
cool on my skin
I miss the sting of you
but most of all I miss you when I sleep
when you whisper the most
I know you are there
you are a quiet chaos I  don't quite hear

I remember climbing out my window,
skulking off into a violent blizzard.
Lost in teenage anguish,
my feet carried me forward through the storm.
Two a.m. and a mile I out I realize,
I'm walking towards her house
Panic slammed my body like a tidal wave,
my nerves vibrated,
shaking the bitter cold.
I carried on determined.
No plan of action,
just full of **** and vigor and something...
Something I hadn't yet known.
The walk up her street is done with tremendous effort,
like swimming in jello.
Standing outside her house,
I'm suddenly aware of another obstacle.
I don't have a cell-phone.
Which window is her room?
Assuming it's upstairs, this is fifty - fifty you sonofabitch.
Take the risk.
I throw a small stone but hear it explode like a firecracker on the window.
Silence.
I reach for another when a soft voice calls my name.
We stand in the street and talk for a while,
holding one another.
I'm sorry, I can't stay, they probably know I'm gone.
I just... I just wanted to say goodbye
I walked backwards the whole way down the street.
Streetlights and snowfall created an amber aura around her.
That,
was the first time I knew what love was.
Sometimes I think it was the last time, too.

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!

We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly! -yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost for ever:

Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.

We rest.—A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise.—One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:

It is the same!—For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutablilty.

What if we cannot see?

The bluest of skies;

the clearest of seas.

The beauty around us

no-one to appreciate its majesty.

What if we cannot taste?

The lips of the one we love

The fresh air, blowing freely.

Or the food and drink provided by the earth

to keep us from the finality of death.

What if we cannot feel?

The one one we hold most dear;

who holds our heart with theirs.

Or to feel the warmth of a fire,

pleasant on our uncovered skin.

What if we cannot smell?

The scent of a flower in full bloom;

It’s aroma intoxicating and sweet.

Or the smells of our home we miss

whenever we are not there.

What if we cannot hear?

The sound of cleansing rain on the window

or the music that speaks to our every being.

Or the sound of a newborn baby

crying for it’s mother.

What if the meaning of life is our senses?

To See.

To Taste.

To Feel.

To Hear.

To Smell.

Would life be worth living,

if we cannot experience it fully?

The intricacies of life all around;

no-one could appreciate them,

how truly perfect they are.

What if we were never born with them?

It’s hard to miss something

you never had to begin with.

So for those who haven’t experienced these sensations.

Life is still worth living.

What if this life is false?

Reality isn’t what it seems?

What if this is all just a dream

and we don’t know any differently?

What if we were never born at all?

Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill
Which severs those it should unite;
Let us remain together still,
Then it will be good night.

How can I call the lone night good,
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
Be it not said, thought, understood—
Then it will be—good night.

To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light,
The night is good; because, my love,
They never say good-night.

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle—
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea—
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?