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A doubt if it be Us
Assists the staggering Mind
In an extremer Anguish
Until it footing find.

An Unreality is lent,
A merciful Mirage
That makes the living possible
While it suspends the lives.

LOVE, often your delicate fingers beckon,
And always I follow.

Oh, if I could stay, and possess your beauty
Beckoning always!

As I'm sitting, sitting waiting,
As all my thoughts are congregating,
I find my mem'ries to be tainting,
Forgetting about my Charlotte May.

At Minerva's School of Pristine Boarding,
We first began our timid courting,
And it was clear that she was hoarding,
My heart belonged to Charlotte May.

We got married in December,
Rung in the new year close together,
But soon after she got the letter,
The letter drafted Charlotte May.

They sent her back in shrouds of silver,
No longer living just to wither,
And her coffin made me shiver,
Deep in the ground was Charlotte May.

As I'm sitting, sitting waiting,
Lonely, lost, and always hating,
I realise my thoughts are fading,
Fading away like Charlotte May.

But I remain here, quite unchanging,
The scenes around me rearranging,
My days filled up with hoping, praying,
Until I reach the final day,

And I return to Charlotte May.

this is not a poem
          
          

                       *just a mere

image
consisting of

                                         straight lines
and curves

Though his eyes were blind
he saw in ways that others did not

With ears he listened
and the truth of a man's hearts
became opened up to him

His nose would not deceive him
for the beauty of each flower
revealed themselves to him

Flavors upon his tongue
painted pictures for his mind
to relish and savor

As he placed his fingers upon a face
he would know a mans joy
or the troubles that beset him

Though many would claim him disabled
he never knew himself to be