Who gave thee, O Beauty!
The keys of this breast,
Too credulous lover
Of blest and unblest?
Say when in lapsed ages
Thee knew I of old;
Or what was the service
For which I was sold?
When first my eyes saw thee,
I found me thy thrall,
By magical drawings,
Sweet tyrant of all!
I drank at thy fountain
False waters of thirst;
Thou intimate stranger,
Thou latest and first!
Thy dangerous glances
Make women of men;
New-born we are melting
Into nature again.
Lavish, lavish promiser,
Nigh persuading gods to err,
Guest of million painted forms
Which in turn thy glory warms,
The frailest leaf, the mossy bark,
The acorn's cup, the raindrop's arc,
The swinging spider's silver line,
The ruby of the drop of wine,
The shining pebble of the pond,
Thou inscribest with a bond
In thy momentary play
Would bankrupt Nature to repay.

Ah! what avails it
To hide or to shun
Whom the Infinite One
Hath granted his throne?
The heaven high over
Is the deep's lover,
The sun and sea
Informed by thee,
Before me run,
And draw me on,
Yet fly me still,
As Fate refuses
To me the heart Fate for me chooses,
Is it that my opulent soul
Was mingled from the generous whole,
Sea valleys and the deep of skies
Furnished several supplies,
And the sands whereof I'm made
Draw me to them self-betrayed?
I turn the proud portfolios
Which hold the grand designs
Of Salvator, of Guercino,
And Piranesi's lines.
I hear the lofty Pæans
Of the masters of the shell,
Who heard the starry music,
And recount the numbers well:
Olympian bards who sung
Divine Ideas below,
Which always find us young,
And always keep us so.
Oft in streets or humblest places
I detect far wandered graces,
Which from Eden wide astray
In lowly homes have lost their way.

Thee gliding through the sea of form,
Like the lightning through the storm,
Somewhat not to be possessed,
Somewhat not to be caressed,
No feet so fleet could ever find,
No perfect form could ever bind.
Thou eternal fugitive
Hovering over all that live,
Quick and skilful to inspire
Sweet extravagant desire,
Starry space and lily bell
Filling with thy roseate smell,
Wilt not give the lips to taste
Of the nectar which thou hast.

All that's good and great with thee
Stands in deep conspiracy.
Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely
To report thy features only,
And the cold and purple morning
Itself with thoughts of thee adorning,
The leafy dell, the city mart,
Equal trophies of thine art,
E'en the flowing azure air
Thou hast touched for my despair,
And if I languish into dreams,
Again I meet the ardent beams.
Queen of things! I dare not die
In Being's deeps past ear and eye,
Lest there I find the same deceiver,
And be the sport of Fate forever.
Dread power, but dear! if God thou be,
Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me.

perhaps the only constant of human affairs,
sting,
relief,
the corpse cold limbs.


you adjust yourself


I will not be made to relive the shell shock

a moment, suspended

a reminder

we are all visitors
one mustn't get too comfortable
fate playfully, sternly reminding us
that is just what we are
                                         passers by,
so is everyone we cherish

fleeting phantoms carrying a suitcase
with remnants of the us they knew
we try to ****** it away
convince them they have no right to any part of us.


it is so haunting
the reminder
that the damage is done
overstayed visits come with the hefty cost of learning to accept what we cannot change
and the time has come
to migrate north?
to flee the scene?


if only
those who have bulleted their goodbyes
could learn
to never go back to the scene of the crime.

its truly remarkable,
the faded stains that stare right through me
the tip of your blade lodged between my ribs
daring me to move
and somehow, I do
and in time, I forget
how it felt before your blade
and
no memory lingers
of the moment metal struck flesh
the ache, it lulls me to sleep
and cradles my rung out fleet
my shrine, beloved sanctuary of the ******
and when I am put to eternal sleep
lay that wonder blade beside me
no longer
will I struggle or squirm beneath its weight
we are now equal
it is fate

its warm, the softest haze
and i find myself thinking
this isnt how its supposed to be
i'm to be on an empty dock
at dawn
wet wind slapping me in the face
just as the truth sets in
that all things must come to an end
and it is the most magnificent things
that never stay
and i would watch you sail away
and i wouldn't cry
because i've been told to save my tears
never let good suffering go to waste
dip my feather in velvet tears for when long nights strech and my paper is as empty as my chest

but

here i am
its comfortably warm and the sun embraces all of our flesh
as if i am its most beloved green
and it so unfair
for the world to turn its back on me
how am i to be miserable
with so much peace surrounding me?
i will find my dock
i will find a way to make use of this
my tears mean something

it is the birthday of a dead man
the day the world began
the end of all that has ever been and all that ever will be
and it is during this time of year that i am reminded of a minuscule speck
a mountain of joy, an avalanche of the heart
of emotions I dare not speak 
of words too intricate to attempt to explore
i swing my heart by a tethered rope
with the hope that when it falls flat against the cold tiles of realization 
it will mend itself with knowledge that all things mend
and i have felt
as minuscule as a speck
and as grand and loved as a mountain 
and i remember my beloved oak tree 
extending its branches far beyond my reach
beyond the horizon 
beyond me
and with eyes twinkling with wonder 
i ask my beloved oak tree
will you please stay with me?
he smiles knowingly
there are words he does not speak
and when i ask
he shelters me
he urges me to ask for whatever answers my heart desires 
and when he speaks 
i am all wonder as i hear words like i've never heard before and letters said with a command beyond that of a general 
and that is how we spend our days
i am all the oak tree wished for
i marvel at everything it has seen 
i am so happy he is my oak tree
and there might be emptiness where it stood
but I will always make room for it next to me

when we come into being
we are given very few Instructions
we are given a name, a faith a blade
but never told how it is we need to fend for our souls
to the eternal quest of finding a surface 
that reflects you faithfully 
that echoes the truths of our state
is all there is to being, to prove that we do?
is it with the hope that we might make another's existence that much more tolerable? 
is life supposed to be tolerated?
is there power in escape? 
to take your pen
write the words you've found in your soul
share your precious gilded letters 
with the world
and hope they kind find solace
in like-minded blood-soaked letters
perhaps I will serve as a cautionary tale
and perhaps that is enough
perhaps wanting more than what is offered
is a sin in and of itself? 
but perhaps the world would not have come into being without the sinners
those who dare to ask for more
to take

we dare not speak
for thoughts are forbidden 
in the ashes of what was once our beloved kingdom we stand 
unrecognizable 
we sleep cradling what little is left of our printed word
i hold it faithfully to my chest
i owe all that i am to you
thoughts float, suspended in midair
waiting for those of us with nets to catch them 
softly place them on loving pearly white mattresses 
comfortable? you'll outlive man’s time
beyond the falling of allies
beyond the dying of the sun
beyond us
beyond them
beyond wars, salvation and greed
you clench all that we are
in a single fist
as if the bane of human existence 
exists
in a book