"bayberry" poems
Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass
And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind
Blow over me—I am so tired, so tired
Of passing pleasant places! All my life,
Following Care along the dusty road,
Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed;
Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand
Tugged ever, and I passed. All my life long
Over my shoulder have I looked at peace;
And now I fain would lie in this long grass
And close my eyes.
Yet onward!
Cat birds call
Through the long afternoon, and creeks at dusk
Are guttural. Whip-poor-wills wake and cry,
Drawing the twilight close about their throats.
Only my heart makes answer. Eager vines
Go up the rocks and wait; flushed apple-trees
Pause in their dance and break the ring for me;
Dim, shady wood-roads, redolent of fern
And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread
Of round-faced roses, pink and petulant,
Look back and beckon ere they disappear.
Only my heart, only my heart responds.
Yet, ah, my path is sweet on either side
All through the dragging day,—sharp underfoot
And hot, and like dead mist the dry dust hangs—
But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach,
And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling,
The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake,
Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road
A gateless garden, and an open path:
My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.
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I'm on a polar thing, I'm on a polar thing, I'm on a polar thing, from the north pole to the south pole, stuck in a maze, so I went out and Mazed talent out. With my name in the middle, with double T left, where I'm from means you, and nothing comes easy. Just check how dark my hallway was, till I found the light. O Glory, O Glory stay with me, a bayberry root to find my love. Feel the passion, chasing the spotlight, this is where my Demons are. All I ever hear is that is very rare, the eye of return. It could be because of the Isolation mysterious, in a ration of stations, a formation of God's creation. I'm on a polar thing.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 3:45 PM UTC