At a table set for two,
        in a quiet corner,
they sit across;
       an emotional sun
sets acrimoniously
       behind them.
She goes on munching
     something in silence,
never once lifting her face,
    to make the picture perfect.

He sits there, like dumbstruck
    not a single moment
taking eyes off her pretty face,
    as if, she'd vanish if he does.

Entwined in a
      mutually absorbing deliquescence?
Or each one beyond
     the reach of other's mind?

Over a cup of coffee
    going  too cold, to drink now
an intrusive character
     idling on the table next
staring  alternatively at both
        inanely wonder:
"The beginning or the end?"

1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Infinity's Mirror by Nat Lipstadt

Two mirrors, set in opposition observe created notional blending,
a reflecting pool of bonding's of unglued, contrary compositions.
Mirror to mirror, his imagery, fuses to Sylvia's images, hers,
faintly recollected, now living face, face to face, with his past insurrections, alters his future visions.

From cold water lake she's drawn, impaled by refracting regrets,
retrieved, drawing her words upon him, an awakening slap to drink,
beloved, tragic magic, infinitely captive.  But this old man's tiddlywinks, land-locked words, blunted instruments, needy for release & salvation, are neither silvered or exacting, just stains on a dulled, tarnished brass spittoon, except for the brunt'd bunting of lines across his roughened terrain'd face, black and white, pen and ink etched illustration of howling agitation.

His words worn down, hardened, red faced, purloined speckled pellets, damp to roll on down her rutted, almost ancient, tear streak paths, disbelieved superstitions, sacrificed for one of her living morsels of words.

Man, here to her, pledges allegiance, audaciously defiling her poetic sanctity, a visage endless repeated, delivers her shiny poem-poised countenance, even though no forgiveness from time can a mirror afford for either, from her words,  confession born, terrible truths beyond, beyond the finite.

                                                
~~~~~~~­~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mirror by Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

Sleep sleep sleep.
I am going to sleep.
Like a bear or like a deer.
Without drink of bear.
Sleep sleep sleep.
I am going to sleep.
Just to see a dream.
Floating like a sea bream.
Catching one another.
Playing together.
But it is in sleep.
Sleep sleep sleep.
I am going to sleep.
In my mind your fancy.
Collecting thoughts in frequency.
With you I will walk.
And happily we will talk.
For that I will sleep.
Sleep sleep sleep.
I am going to sleep.
If you will be sad.
I feel bad.
Never hit you.
Never become mad.
To your rejoice.
I will become your choice.
Becoz we are also frnds so deep.
So I have to sleep.
Sleep sleep sleep.
I am going to sleep.
Your anger mood I can study.
Oh my love and my friend buddy.
I know I will persuade you.
It is confirmed and due.
You are my life I already it knew.
For you I will bring a lamb of sheep.
Whom you will feed.
Wipe your tears which will seep.
Never give you chance to weep.
So I need to sleep.
Sleep sleep sleep.
I am going to sleep.
Need you attention and heed.
When my peoms you will read.
Come in my dream with slow speed.
Now i want to sleep.
Sleep sleep sleep.
I am going to sleep.
Preparing myself here.
Oh my lovely dear.
When will you come?
I am always stand with a big warm welcome.
It is all truth not lies.
Now I have to close my eyes.
Dizzy and so tired.
May be I slip and gets down mired.
Blow off my lamp's light.
Good bye and good night.
Feeling faint and sleepy.
Now it is my time to sleep.
Sleep sleep sleep.
I am going to sleep.
GOOD NIGHT....
..

Friends are the jewels of the earth
For the real treasure
We all seek
Is to be understood
And cared for by another

With endless conversations
And cups of tea
There’s a longing
A sense of peace
That comes from good company

As the day rolls on
We talk and feel life through
Laughing at the situations
That seek to destroy us

There’s a beauty
In mutual bonding
And learning
And laughing
At life’s trouble;
It’s just me and you
Lost in our little bubble

When feeling blue
Unearthed, deadbeat
They give you a new perspective
to set you on your feet

Friendship is priceless
Connections
Communications
More tea, cake and understanding

By text, by mail
By spoken word
They reach over continents
Villages, cities and towns
To make themselves heard

To lend a hand
When feeling low
Or losing hope
They give their free support
The kind of which
Can never be bought

Days, weeks, months and years
Pass by in the blink of an eye
No need for an explanation, reason or why
They are there for you
No matter how life changes

A true friend
Always caring
Always the same inside
Getting to know you a little better
Than they did the last time
They read your letter

Never tiring of your company
A spirit so pure
You may not find all the answers
But will laugh, and talk and share
So together, we’ll find the cure

Digging deep into the human soul
Excavating feelings
Working through emotional episodes
To find peace in the present moment
And in each other
At the end of the day
That is friendship’s truest goal

Be they brother, mother, sister or lover
Friends come in many shapes and guises
For what it’s worth
A true friend means more to me
Than all the jewels of the earth.

Every year now, I note the differences:
the changes in the stones,
the retreating car park and what
is new to the waves.
It is slight. You try to hide it by
presenting the same places and
lacing them with memories that
all correspond.
But you are changing.
You take new beatings, and I can't
help but wonder if we are alike.
The process of erosion has caught
us both, and year by year,
cliff by cliff, it's wearing us down.

It was always supposed to happen,
but what if you change too much?
What will happen when you change
irreparably, irreconcilably?
Even now you are only an
imaginary home, so defamiliarized
from the dream I demand.
I know you promised me nothing.
But I had a deal you didn't know about
and you've ceased to make me happy.
I can't help but be a little angry
with you for letting the
storm break you down.

But is it really you, or is it me
who has done the changing?
Is it not my eyes and my erosion?
Is it not the attrition and abrasion
and the long shore drift
that has welled up inside my own soul?
Is it you or I?
How can we know?