"extatic" poems
1
A great year and place;
A harsh, discordant, natal scream out-sounding, to touch the mother’s heart
closer than any yet.
I walk’d the shores of my Eastern Sea,
Heard over the waves the little voice,
Saw the divine infant, where she woke, mournfully wailing, amid the roar
of cannon, curses, shouts, crash of falling buildings;
Was not so sick from the blood in the gutters running—nor from
the single corpses, nor those in heaps, nor those borne away in the
tumbrils;
Was not so desperate at the battues of death—was not so shock’d
at the repeated fusillades of the guns.
2
Pale, silent, stern, what could I say to that long-accrued retribution?
Could I wish humanity different?
Could I wish the people made of wood and stone?
Or that there be no justice in destiny or time?
3
O Liberty! O mate for me!
Here too the blaze, the grape-shot and the axe, in reserve, to fetch them out
in case of need;
Here too, though long represt, can never be destroy’d;
Here too could rise at last, murdering and extatic;
Here too demanding full arrears of vengeance.
4
Hence I sign this salute over the sea,
And I do not deny that terrible red birth and baptism,
But remember the little voice that I heard wailing—and wait with perfect trust,
no matter how long;
And from to-day, sad and cogent, I maintain the bequeath’d cause, as for all lands,
And I send these words to Paris with my love,
And I guess some chansonniers there will understand them,
For I guess there is latent music yet in France—floods of it;
O I hear already the bustle of instruments—they will soon be drowning
all that would interrupt them;
O I think the east wind brings a triumphal and free march,
It reaches hither—it swells me to joyful madness,
I will run transpose it in words, to justify it,
I will yet sing a song for you, MA FEMME.
2.2k
We trace the pow’r of Death from tomb to tomb,
And his are all the ages yet to come.
’Tis his to call the planets from on high,
To blacken Phoebus, and dissolve the sky;
His too, when all in his dark realms are hurl’d,
From its firm base to shake the solid world;
His fatal sceptre rules the spacious whole,
And trembling nature rocks from pole to pole.
Awful he moves, and wide his wings are spread:
Behold thy brother number’d with the dead!
From ******* freed, the exulting spirit flies
Beyond Olympus, and these starry skies.
Lost in our woe for thee, blest shade, we mourn
In vain; to earth thou never must return.
Thy sisters too, fair mourner, feel the dart
Of Death, and with fresh torture rend thine heart.
Weep not for them, and leave the world behind.
As a young plant by hurricanes up torn,
So near its parent lies the newly born—
But ’midst the bright ehtereal train behold
It shines superior on a throne of gold:
Then, mourner, cease; let hope thy tears restrain,
Smile on the tomb, and sooth the raging pain.
On yon blest regions fix thy longing view,
Mindless of sublunary scenes below;
Ascend the sacred mount, in thought arise,
And seek substantial and immortal joys;
Where hope receives, where faith to vision springs,
And raptur’d seraphs tune th’ immortal strings
To strains extatic. Thou the chorus join,
And to thy father tune the praise divine.
1.7k
We just ended.
You didn't talk to me one night
I wasn't brave enough to text you first
I gradually stopped going online
I'm convinced I'm over you
I think about you a little less
You send me a message!!!!!
I'm extatic!
You tell me I'm beautiful
Tell me you would've loved to be my date
We have beautiful moments
You stop replying, I start to think maybe he doesn't like me.
Sigh...Repeat.
The real reason I can't get over you is, you're comfortable , you're funny, you're **** and you never told me could never be.
So I still hope, hope it's not in my head. Hope that you didn't call me beautiful as just a platonic compliment.
Hope that every time you texted me , you spent forever trying to find the perfect blend of cool kid and nice guy.
Hope that something I said will always cross your mind and make you smile.
Hope that every now and then you think of how great we could've been
Hope that I wasn't just another girl
Hope that, maybe I'm the one that got away.
But it's too late now, you've probably moved on.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
People like happy ending.
Sometimes life isn't so happy though.
But there are times when your're so extatic that you jitter in your seat.
And there are times so ****** that you could jump out a window.
But always remember the good things to come.
And never wollow in your past.
But do not forget you past because it made you...well, you.
And so embrace all your mistakes to brighten up your days.
People like happy endings.
Sometimes life isn't so happy though.
But if you can remember the happy parts,
And keep a smile on your face...
People like you will have happy endings.
Sometimes some not so happy days but the endings will be the happiest, I promise.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
there's green all throughout
the silver droplets,
coiling about the warmth
of powder-blues and roaring magentas.
there's green all throughout
the golden threads,
winding around the jubilee
of cream-whites and vibrant citrines.
there's green all throughout
the copper clays,
swirling between the renewal
of xantic petals and extatic lilacs.
there's green all throughout
the joyous weeping
of spring.
Apr 12, 2024
Apr 12, 2024 at 12:03 PM UTC
Happy
Sad
Manic
Depressed
Extatic
Suffocated
I'm on a thin line
Between it all
Walking on a fishing line
100 miles long
Some days it's easy
And I walk in a straight line
Other days I'm hanging by a finger
My feet and hands hurt
As it continually digs into my skin
I want to let go
I want to forget the pain
And fall into nothingness
But that's suicide
I've got people who love me
Screaming my name
With their arms wide open
On the other side of the line
They feel so close
Yet they are so far
Every time I get close
The line seems to grow
And almost every day
A new knot is in the line
It digs into my bare skin
Forcing me to cry out
But no one hears me
They're screaming too loud
I bleed and cry
But it's all in vain
Because I have to keep walking
On the thin, almost invisible, line
Every day is a battle
Every day I fight a war
Against myself
Against the world
Against the Devil
Against a lot of things
All while I walk on a fishing line
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC