Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my *** of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
the three of us; then I sigh
for the moon cannot drink,

and my shadow goes emptily along
with me never saying a word;
with no other friends here, I can
but use these two for company;
in the time of happiness, I
too must be happy with all
around me; I sit and sing
and it is as if the moon

accompanies me; then if I
dance, it is my shadow that
dances along with me; while
still not drunk, I am glad
to make the moon and my shadow
into friends, but then when
I have drunk too much, we
all part; yet these are

friends I can always count on
these who have no emotion
whatsoever; I hope that one day
we three will meet again,
deep in the Milky Way.

he was a storm.
he came rolling in at unexpected times
he made my skies dark and drenched me in my own tears
he caused a commotion inside my mind and then he would disappear
like nothing had ever happened.
he caused destruction of my mental state and I wondered why for God's sake
he ruined everything in his path and didn't even bother to stick around and see the aftermath
he put out the fire inside my heart
he left me in the dark
like nothing had ever happened.

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu.
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught
Save where you are, how happy you make those.
    So true a fool is love that in your will,
    Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

Little things that no one needs--
  Little things to joke about--
Little landscapes, done in beads.
  Little morals, woven out,
Little wreaths of gilded grass,
  Little brigs of whittled oak
Bottled painfully in glass;
  These are made by lonely folk.

Lonely folk have lines of days
  Long and faltering and thin;
Therefore----little wax bouquets,
  Prayers cut upon a pin,
Little maps of pinkish lands,
  Little charts of curly seas,
Little plats of linen strands,
  Little verses, such as these.

TAKING PHOTOS
AND UPLOADING THEM
FOR MY FRIENDS!!!11!!!1!!
i see strewn about me

PILES and PILES of
MIST-COVERED
RGB STORES of
ME^^0RIEZ

~sigh