I love to steal away to my retreat
Far from harsh mockery and cruel eyes.
Nocturnal air wafts mossy incense sweet
Mingling with cedar, a lone pine sighs.
O! If I could  but linger here all day
From earliest morn with rose tinted sky,
I would listen for God's voice as I pray
Though time on agitated wings doth fly.
Soughing of wind through ancient towering trees,
Heartbreaking cooing of a mourning dove,
Alone break hush of benediction's breeze
Overflowing my heart with poignant love.
O! to linger forever at this place
Far from the maddening crowd's hectic pace!



*~~Hilda~~

We're alone.
Really and truly.
Hey Lindsay, does this stuff make you woozy?
Don't trust anyone,
Trust me.
Look out for number one.

Pretending helps.
But you gotta be good at it.
I can fake with the best of anyone.
Hey Lindsay the ceiling is crying, look at it.

Remember,
No one can break your heart
If you bury it in the backyard.
And if they start digging,
Drop out.
Hey Lindsay, I think I might blackout.

You might get cold.
Sometimes I think I froze.
I can't feel anything these days.
Hey Lindsay, so it goes.

I write through the words I could not speak,
for every teardrop, lying on her lonely lips;
she is my sunset before night comes awake,
she is my poetry, in my dreams, when I sleep.

I write on the silence embraced by the night,
for every hope, foresee but strength to move;
I cast myself away from the shadows of life,
she is my poetry, in my eyes, when I love.

I write those heartaches she tried to seclude,
for every doubt, which ever maimed her feet;
she is a one perfect love story to be told,
she is my poetry, in my grave, on my death.

Those little orange bottles,
Who drown the bedside table.
A melting *** of colors and shapes,
I obviously am not stable.

Only a few,
Was all mom ever knew,
Before I went to sleep.
She soon found me,
Covered in *****,
Passed out in a bundle of sheets.

Oh, how rude.
I am being so vile.
I really haven't talked about this,
In quite the longest while.

Maybe I need more pills.
More pills to 'help' me survive.
More therapy,
More pity.
Oh, no thank you,
I'll be fine.

The scientist-psychiatrist
the psychologic sociologist
has proved with his statistics
and his data-riddled literates
that nothing will be crippled
if they sweep the city clean
if they slay not only Tybalt
but the whole Verona scene
so they ****** it from our hands
from our brains and those to come
as the Ravens sear across the lands
and bindings come undone
They watch the pages flitter by
and cackle with delight
as the populace of fiction
by their hands is ripped alight
The licking of the laces
by the hungry tongues of flame
will ravage on the characters
you've come to know by name
Montag barrels forth and finds
the Fahrenheit has risen
Hester screams and claws her mind
out of this hellish prison
and Dorian will clamber up
to sit atop the pile
and weep for Pictures yet to sup
upon his looks and guile
And you'll watch as they obliterate
the city from within
de-storying our Paradise
so it won't be Lost again.
But I, Calpurnia? I warned you
that the fiery clouds would rain
I told you all, fictitious youth,
but you called me insane.

I crave
            simplicity.

I still repeat words you said to me over in my head.
And now I only speak in tongues,
For few understand the ramblings of a loveless madman.

I was running,
You were chasing,
You ran out of breath,
I never realised you'd given up.

We are hopeless lovers
Distraught in worlds of unimaginable alone-ness
And I only want you.
I only want you.
And you are not here.

1.
    Stupid  white cloud!
    no self preserving
     instinct,
    fallen in to
    dandy wind's callous hands,
    joined him
    in his  jittery dance,
                shredded in to pieces
                within no time,
                spread apart,
                pathetically spun around,
               dissolved in to the blue expanses,
               without a trace;
               not even an echo,
               of  her remembrance,
               is left behind.
                       2.
              Selfless white cloud,
              no ego left, to mar her
              spotless form,
              no urge to exhibit,
              dissolved in to the loving hands
              of winsome, breeze,
              in an ecstatic dance.
              Slowly dissolved,
              in bliss,
              became,
              one with
              the universe.