No doubt, her temple shines a jeweled trove
each carat gold would glimpse of lover's wealth,
shall I then try entreat her guarded cove;
and win a love, immured from suitor's stealth?

Her lair is wreathed by tears of bitter moat,
a soften rippling tide conceals my stride
each imprint leaves no cast or sandy float
with only faint demures to serve as guide.

For dense, uncertain fogging clouds her glow
as tho' her light's obscured, so none may find,
or love, in templed grief incensing woe
with none a paddled boat so left behind.

Her water's deep and cold, than to allow
tho' having tried, her lantern's brighter now.

wear the badge, suitor, bristling poet,
chloroform content on a surge of the old heroism,
but you could do nothing to save her back in the then
your benevolent shock impotent in hindsight
and what ungovernable intent holds sway at this time?

can the intellectual blast paint a way for a homecoming
where accused dignity might finally sleep without
the within of a star shaped wound
to emerge from behind the deep cover of an aging photograph
whence your soul's shadow smiled like a lazy fern
and the energetic child out braved the shocked Adonis

there is an undeniable whereto as your fingers blow bubbles
washed by the whether or not to further
a gentleman shall always keep his secrets passed the obituary relish
forever a disciple to his pondered heart while
the narrow prophet can only bridle at an opened conscience

while keeping the adultery at arms-length,
a good four thousand miles hence, but leaving so little space
that science cannot detect a gap,
hope is stretched across a salty segregation
whose surface offers mirror to us each
and furnishes a briny indulgence
once the barriers of taste end at our fingertips

yet, still, every morning, my **** will stink of yesterday’s bad decisions

To whom it may concern:

Stolen
Is my very last breath
Upon this lovely world
Its feelings so diverse
While gasping for air
She said "I love you!"
Words from a gypsy woman
First name "Esmeralda"
As we come across feverishly
The tearful river of distinctive soulmates
Drowning uncommonly
Into the depths of despair
Misled by an enchanted love
Towering
As I weaken
With unyielding approach
Lips of my own dare not speak
Between us
A body torn with sentiments
As her lavish spells
Arise upon my death
To a chambers of never-ending spectacles

Sincerely,

A heartless suitor

My eyes, python-like, swallow the sky,
greedy for the wrongs in me to go right
at the sight of your gleeful greenery
spilling over creek beds and hills.
The wind, combing out my worries,
blowing away the blockage built
by the fumes and filth collected in city gutters.
I want to be
let wild, made free.
But one wrong turn in your winding maze and I am gone,
a place like this will chew you up and spit you out.
You should leave, something tells me.
No one ever leaves fully intact,
the longer you stay, the more you will fall apart.
“On the contrary” I scoff.
“I am becoming more myself, not less.”
But this is what everyone says
just before they leap in joyful pursuit
to tumble headlong down hidden gullies.
But I am more careful, I assure myself.
I hunt the way crocodiles do,
watching patterns with keen intention,
offering my hands and eyes.
But what should I do if, when the time comes,
You resist?
Disregard me, like an unworthy suitor?
And what if that is what I am?
I see, I take note of
the way the wind blows and the shadows fall,
the way the trees twist clockwise
or counter-clockwise.
The way animals flee when I approach and
the way they keep perfectly still
hoping they are invisible.
And there are times when I see all this, and more.
Like heat distortions above a fire,
something peripheral or liminal,
almost outside the spectrum of what can be perceived
or communicated or defined.
All these trails, the ones seen and unseen
and the ones somewhat seen
lead me to a terrible suspicion:
that the likes of me lacks to tools
to understand the likes of you.
that in harmony with one another
we would both cease to be what we are.
that you will never regard me with love and worse—
you will never regard me at all.
Then I, in frustration, stop going with you.
Start to go against you.
And keep going, finally on my own.
Still myself, but less.

I am closed
My heart, barricaded
Molded together by unequivocal fear and total agony
It lies in bleak solitude
Pulsating with every emotion,
Yet left it it's cage, utterly dissatisfied
There are times when my heart can hear
It can hear the beckoning call of my suitor,
Begging this troubled heart to mend his pain
At times, it might understand the misery
Though, it is reminded readily,
That these walls are not meant for destruction
That these walls, shall instead last a lifetime

My heart cannot fix you,
My heart cannot fix this
It is unable to mend your wounds,
As mine have yet to heal

There once was a butterfly being chased by a man with a net.
He would try many tricks to get as close as he could get.

He left out her favorite food and plants, but he could never hold her in his hands.  Instead he inherited a family of ants.

One day he caught her as she landed on a leaf.
Her colors were magnificent as he admired her in disbelief.

The wait was now over, but soon he began to see that the beautiful butterfly was not very happy.

She moved from one plant to another searching for the perfect meal to eat.

The collector placed another butterfly in this house of which he had quite a few....
Now this butterfly was different because of it's hue.
The moment it spotted Madame Butterfly its wings became heavy and turned a shade of blue.

Madame Butterfly went about her business with no clue at all.....
oblivious about this suitor who sat affixed up on the wall.

He tried hard to gain her attention, but to no avail.
It was like a sailboat moving without a sail.

Eventually they became a couple, but at times she tended to take flight.
She entertained other butterflies who only moved their wings at night.

He chased her many times.....only for her to flee again.
This arrangement wasn't working for him, so it had to come to an end.

Heartbroken he watched the one he grew to love mill about aimlessly in the air.
Madame Butterfly's attention captured by one who didn't care.

The collector observed the behavior of the two and from his research picked up this clue.

Butterfly females are similar to humans before they commit, they often run from the one who truly loves them.

Butterfly females are just like humans too.....
They often run away from the love that has been proven to be true.

Which butterfly are you?

Beneath the bracing maple tree
Awaits a beau, pursued heart's key

Cold sweaty hands, timid was he
As if he's dosed with ecstasy

To woo this beautiful princess,
Hath played a fiddle effortless

Heart beats loud beneath pastel dress
Mind's been puzzled, soon she'll confess

She don't regret, she won't forget
For that so moment felt kismet

Will they be lovers? Make a guess,
It all depends if she said yes

You mean if I don't go extinct,

I guess I'm free,

as free as anyone is in this world,

with Destiny glaring at me from her Window,

Her eyelids fluttering in anticipatory teases,

and yet to flirt with her is to invite Doom into your pocket,

Even if she does gaze the glance of her blessing on you,

your date with her is, ultimately, set

the supper is bitter, and her wine that which lulls in the sleep of the ages,

until thence, she changes tables, and woos another suitor.

we all must have that sour meal with her sitting quaintly across, smiling demurely, yet knowingly,

So, until the time comes to sit at her table, wrest free from her shackles the very smallest bits of will

tho it make her jealous, her envy 'tis thus of you still.

Your fine eyes and lively wit
first caught his attention,
your light, lush figure
he discerned upon closer inspection.

You then had the audacity
to speak your mind,
to tell your unwanted suitor
where to go.

Nonetheless, what did he find?
A young lady brimming
with charm and intelligence,
a country girl of unrivaled specialness.

And hither came his letter,
an eye-opening missive,
a charitable benediction
that proved redemptive.

Here your prejudice began to be
worked on for the better,
its constant hold relenting
until it unfettered altogether.

His agony of rejection
soon warred against his pride,
his ardency for you
could not be denied.

A chance encounter
and you were
at once astonished
at what your heart did reveal,

his intense stare warmed your cheeks,
his kind words
and acts of goodness
then sealed the deal.

You could love no other.
And in this blissful denouement
you agreed to become his wife and lover.
Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, Mistress of Pemberley...

Yesterday they lined up all the boys to give them a good talking to.
After all, when you're about to ask the head priest's daughter for her hand, you must do it the right way.

But of course, they'd only line up the boys, and not the girls who glance and flirt and trail the tips of their fingers along wet gowns when bathing.
It's known that Victoria will kiss anyone who can tame her curls, and Alice leaves violets for those she fancies.
Even a pig recognize that Jacob and Peter have been making eyes at each other for about two summers, and that Matti only longs for books.
Harold's true love is venison, and though he could be won over digestively, Emi is really trying to move towards vegetarianism.

So they told the boys how to carry themselves and some listened in desperate eagerness and earnest and a few planned pranks, and anyone worth their salt could tell it was a disaster.
This morning, the local girls dressed the boys in flowers, as is strange tradition, but then a few joined the line and fairly glowed in their blue linen and lemony cinnamon licorice hair, dripping with petals.

The king laughed and the head priest smirked in bemusement, as it is every year.
And Emi gazed, bored and silent to every proclamation, gift, and oath.
Yet a fourth year had passed without a chosen suitor.
Courtyard emptied, and I drew near her chair as well.

"I have no strange and beautiful art to exhibit or exotic sweet to taste. I do not seek what you will not eagerly give, and I will not ask you to be my wife, but I'd very much like to be your friend ifthatwouldbeokaywithyouthanks."

After all, who doesn't fall in love with Artemis.

Little speckled bird,
quirky nerd, owl eyes-
gleaming behind the glasses,
often you zoom inwards
and land in that never never land
beyond the reach of most,
yet I am in love with your
ingeniousness that defies words.
bit strange it may sound
but I am one who explores
the hidden spaces beyond
my desired comfort zones.
they warn me saying a nerd
is a killjoy, nothing else
Swimming against the tide
I hear your excited chirps inside
making me restless with anticipation,
my intellectual slant
received your approval,
many times,I am hopeful
growing my beard long
I'll wait here, till you return
completing your mission.

Love was not destined to grace my life.
Love of another, that is, not of the world
And the reasons lie in the views of my mind.
For a secular suitor has no appeal of mine.

How could I love another person,
When none of the lovers love me?
I'm in and of myself and treat my body to great wealth.
Their wants above needs. Their possessions above health.

There's no room in my world for people like this;
Drowning their sorrows in a sugary bliss.

I’m in love with a ghost,
a suitor of my shadow.
I ache in search of him,
yet the floorboard creaks
In the dark of night
are merely my soul
wandering down my a mum hallway

My sorrows coo my exhausted mind,
casting a spell of sleep
upon my glistening eyes.
My shadow creeps out from under
the crack of my door-
the door that keeps my demons
within four walls.
My shadow, the phantom of my desires
chases them into eternity.

Even when these old bones break,
this skin turns blue,
these eyes roll back into
the depths of my mind…
My shadow will roam
until The End

I wanted to apologize in advance for the heartache i left at your doorstep. Please appreciate the beautiful wrapping, for appearance and pretense, which are essentially the same, do take effort. I rang the doorbell twice, and dug the knife in deep. Not necessarily because I wanted to wound you, but mostly because I wanted understand your depths. I wanted to know how far i could sink in.

I forced my way into your thoughts. You didn't invite me in but once i reached the inside of your fascinating head i ran wild, leaving scars on your vulnerable brain as I pleased. I spray painted graffiti on the left brain, carved my initials into the right. I hoped that as the years pass by and the trees do their seasonal dance, you'd run into those scars and I'd force my way into your thoughts once again. Or at least that's what i had planned.

And I'm sorry for making you my voodoo doll. By hurting you i was hoping that i too would feel some sort of agony ,but i think that my heart's ice covering has made it numb to this kind of pain.

I was trying to undo your knots, so maybe mine would fall apart as well. I was hoping that we were two strings intertwined. As the strings separated I realized that they weren't nearly as beautiful, so I backed away pitifully. My knots were tighter than ever, and looking at yours hurt. I'm sorry I ruined your mess. It was all so intentional.

It was because I loved the way I looked in your eyes. They were a mirror I could finally bear to see myself in. But you have to understand that I didn't want to love myself. So i had to make it so i wasn't able to peer up at your irises anymore. Only at the ground as a mumbled my inadequate goodbyes.

I needed you to be a reason to write a love poem, but you turned into another apology, I'm sorry. I wish I would've loved you.

There were times when my heart beat fast. Hypersonic. Like it needed to pump blood through the tangles of veins for the both of us while we focused on one another. It wanted to keep us alive so that we could experience this for as long as possible.

I put you in my mouth. I felt you on my teeth. Then I chewed you up until I became sick of your flavor. Once sweet, the taste of you now nauseates me. This is me spitting you out. Whether bubble gum or boy, neither are meant to last forever. Have I punctured you yet? Is the ice building in your veins? I cannot help trying to hurt you, its an intuitive source of pleasure that can only come from the dark insides that bark through their muzzle.

I felt like a child again as I toyed with your emotions, but as always, games grow tiresome, and I wanted a new doll to run my fingers against. I wanted to create a new story.

I haven't ended it yet. We're in our telescope phase. I'm looking for reasons to leave and you're looking for reasons to make me stay. We both know the latter is much more difficult to decipher in the night sky. Yet we continue our search, destined for the inevitable, but pretending to be oblivious. Slaves to what must be, but patrons of what could be.

I was one of those girls who thought about death a lot and you were one of those boys with balloon lightness, which made you endlessly appealing. I grabbed on to you hoping that you would bring me up with you, but we could not defy the laws of physics set out for us. You could not bring me up, I could only weigh you down. So i set you free, and watched as you floated gracefully away, becoming smaller and smaller.The image is still clear, and the scar still stings when I think about how it felt to no longer be able to see you, and that the fault was all mine. Because I had an agenda for breaking hearts.

But don't pretend like you didnt love your puppeteer. You wanted to be controlled. you wanted something to hate. Because people want something to hate just as much as they want something to love. Because everything is the same. Once you realize the uniformness of the world, you realize why we wear our irises and we convince our brains that everything is, in fact, different. And we decide some things are to be loved and some things are to be hated. But what specifies these things from one another? What is the difference? A world where young children scream at the sight of a flower, and destroy it with their boots until they are sure it is dead? A world where a suitor gives a beautiful woman a bouquet of spiders to show his affection, and she blushes and says that they're beautiful. What is the difference between this world and ours?  Essentially, nothing. We have chosen to love one thing and hate the other and it is complete chance. So when you say you love me, I am offended.

And when you say you hate me, I smile.

To see the abnormal in the usual
To spy a quaint sliver of seperation
A stutter of fluidity; fluidity primary
The unknown subjection personified

These idealistic constructions forever permeating
Where currents join in twitching pools, swaying
to let their particles cloister and vibrate with
infusing spasms that dispel and attract-
Creating the magnetism of substance

Blank resound bliss
Drunk on a thousand drops
Vindicated from a thousand poisons
Reborn
at grid dot
Flowing invoice implode
All afterward foreshadowing
Being this precursor

Not an equation to be witnessed with
the surgical pangs of intellect

Arbitrary
Problematic
Instigative
None of this
Something ness

Of the womb sea
Blank resound bliss
without tributaries
though sensing its leaks
After Big Bang of suitor system silt
Wanton to multiply
Rabid and violent
In conquest
of joy and earth

What I bring to light
My depths are dark
Empty is the surface
Empty is my sleep

He loves to hear the rapturous whistle blowing clearing his mind of dark despairs,
to breathe in the scented whoosh of the slowing wheels
as he stands on the platform watching the arrival of another train.

Coast Starlight, Sunset Limited, Southwest Chief, each with a name.
He joins the other watchers standing there without shame
to greet the wave of an engineer or porter, sunshine or rain.

It's the pageantry.
It's the arrival and departure majesty.
It's the impromptu theater soothing a soul's troubling pain.

There are times he books a Pullman berth, its pillow he snuggles
to lose all the world's cares and struggles,
while rocking so blessedly to the clickety-clack refrain.

One such morning enthralled by seeing America's historic prairies
outside his window, he sets forth prancing through noisy unbalancing vestibules that make him even more merry!
till he reaches the car where like a king he'll reign.

Breakfast in the sun-splashed diner, pancakes and ham,
joking with the headwaiter, and being lavished with free side dishes by the cook, and smiling broadly like a suitor when a lady blushes
from a compliment he makes on her gams.
Though never too busy to sneak a look at the lunch menu where he decides he'll order later the hot meatloaf sandwich with gravy on a wheat bun of  7 "healthy" grains.

Late afternoon in the club car, a Coke by his side
he asks the guy opposite, "Enjoying the ride?"
"You bet! Beats the hassle with planes."

The stranger continues, "Going far?" he asks.
"No. Here and there. Keeping active since my wife passed."
"Ah, nobody wins the life game."

"Honey, the kids want a hamburger"-a stunning blonde stands over the guy who rises, shakes hands and says goodbye.
The train watcher feels a loss he can't explain.

But the lulling vistas of farmland and the soothing whistle blowing such pleasing keys
soon abolish all traces of unease.
He knows when arriving at his destination he'll be the first to ride back again down the all-healing railway lane.

Only he can wear this crown
The woe that pulls and holds him down
A life without, a life with shame
And only he may hold the blame
A door once shut can ne'er reopen
The portal sealed with those words spoken
A path he frequents and walks through slowly
A friendship formed by suitor lowly.

We two were lovers, the Sea and I;
We plighted our troth ‘neath a summer sky.

And all through the riotous ardent weather
We dreamed, and loved, and rejoiced together.
* *
At times my lover would rage and storm.
I said: ‘No matter, his heart is warm.’

Whatever his humour, I loved his ways,
And so we lived though the golden days.

I know not the manner it came about,
But in the autumn we two fell out.

Yet this I know – ‘twas the fault of the Sea,
And was not my fault, that he changed to me.
* *
I lingered as long as a woman may
To find what her lover will do or say.

But he met my smiles with a sullen frown,
And so I turned to the wooing Town.

Oh, bold was this suitor, and blithe as bold!
His look was as bright as the Sea’s was cold.

As the Sea was sullen, the Town was gay;
He made me forget for a winter day.

For a winter day and a winter night
He laughed my sorrow away from sight.

And yet, in spite of his mirth and cheer,
I knew full well he was insincere.

And when the young buds burst on the tree,
The old love woke in my heart for the Sea.

Pride was forgotten – I knew, I knew,
That the soul of the Sea, like my own, was true.

I heard him calling, and lo! I came,
To find him waiting, for ever the same.

And when he saw me, with murmurs sweet
He ran to meet me, and fell at my feet.

And so again ‘neath the summer sky
We have plighted our troth, the Sea and I.


Ella Wheeler Wilcox

897

How fortunate the Grave—
All Prizes to obtain—
Successful certain, if at last,
First Suitor not in vain.

1445

Death is the supple Suitor
That wins at last—
It is a stealthy Wooing
Conducted first
By pallid innuendoes
And dim approach
But brave at last with Bugles
And a bisected Coach
It bears away in triumph
To Troth unknown
And Kindred as responsive
As Porcelain.

Nature’s lay idiot, I taught thee to love,
And in that sophistry, Oh, thou dost prove
Too subtle: Foole, thou didst not understand
The mystic language of the eye nor hand:
Nor couldst thou judge the difference of the air
Of sighs, and say, This lies, this sounds despair:
Nor by th’ eyes water call a malady
Desperately hot, or changing feverously.
I had not taught thee, then, the Alphabet
Of flowers, how they devisefully being set
And bound up might with speechless secrecy
Deliver errands mutely, and mutually.
Remember since all thy words used to be
To every suitor, Ay, if my friends agree;
Since, household charms, thy husband’s name to teach,
Were all the love tricks that thy wit could reach;
And since, an hour’s discourse could scarce have made
One answer in thee, and that ill arrayed
In broken proverbs and torn sentences.
Thou art not by so many duties his,
That from the world’s Common having severed thee,
Inlaid thee, neither to be seen, nor see,
As mine: who have with amorous delicacies
Refined thee into a blisful Paradise.
Thy graces and good words my creatures be;
I planted knowledge and life’s tree in thee,
Which Oh, shall strangers taste? Must I alas
Frame and enamel plate, and drink in glass?
Chaf wax for others’ seals? break a colt’s force
And leave him then, being made a ready horse?

You frighten me.
Plain and simple, I am frightened.
I have a briefcase full of fear,
that I have packed so tight,
that I could not possibly fit one more worry inside.
I think,
that if I tried,
it would burst open and spill all over the ground.
Exposing me again, in ways I've long ignored.

I am afraid you will be fickle,
that you will grow bored with me,
and resign me to a shelf of fond, forgettable, memories.
I am not suited to being a suitor.
I am afraid I will frighten you,
that a certain look or a touch,
will send me screaming and cowering,
and having seen that part of me,
you will turn away.
I am not without such insanity.
I am afraid you will move too quickly,
burn me for warmth,
before finding new kindling,
and leaving me thin and grey like smoke.
I am not a cigarette, nor a burning filter.
I am afraid I will drive you away,
when my heart is heavy,
and my fortunes fall,
and I cannot see the sun for the clouds.
I am not without such storms.

I am not afraid that you will hurt me.
There is no need to fear certainty.
So let me be clear,
you will hurt me.
I am prepared to hurt.
I am a hand that feels the first warmth of spring,
after being clasped in prayer,
after a long winter spent on my knees.
When feeling returns, it hurts.
Always and inevitably.
The hurt is needed to get blood flowing again.
So forgive me, should I call you pins and needles.
However, I am one well acquainted with hurt.

I do not break easily.
But, please, do not take this as an invitation
to bend, spindle, or mutilate.
While my flesh may cover for me,
I carry many scars,
and do not forget them easily.
I do, however, have a profound capacity for forgiveness.
And patience.
And passion.
Even if I forget it at times.
Like I forgot that my heart is made of fire.
Like I forgot that my eyes are full of stars.
Like I forgot that my mind contains multitudes.
Like I forgot that I know how to speak
     with my fingers
              my hips
              my lips
              my tongue
      and my toes.

But you have an art about you.
You are drawing me (closer).
I am drawn.
You are a mystery,
that I promise I will not try to solve,
although I may dismantle the etymology of our conversations.
You are snowflakes on my tongue,
that I want to melt on your inner thigh.
You are delight and delirium,
decadence drizzled down with dew.
You are the roots entwined
in the gaps between your fingers
You are the ocean echoing
inside of your ribcage
(thanks for that one e.e.cummings)
You are my gut screaming at my brain
in gibberish sounds I barely comprehend.
You are a word that almost sounds like home,
a forest, a clear view of the city, a flower, wreathed in flame,
a cat with a story for each life, a joke forgotten, a sigh remembered,
warm hands, milk chocolate, three dances, one just made up,
laughter under teary eyes, *** under starry skies, hamburgers with eggs,
four weeks and three days, or was it nine weeks and five days,
and more and more and more and so much more.

I want you to see that I am full of scripture,
that I burn so God has something to read at night.
I want you to kiss me when the lights go out,
and not stop until the candles burn blue.
I want you to look in my eyes, and see
the world as it must look from heaven.
I want you to pull open my ribcage,
and start my heart beating again.
I want you to breathe fire into my lungs,
so I have no choice but to dance, and spit, and shout.
I want you to show me my hands are not for eating ash,
nor my mouth for vomiting ink onto the page.
I want you to see a constellation in my skin,
that you trace until it is tattooed to my bones.
I want you to sing me lullabies at dawn,
after I've been up all night painting the wind.
But I am not one for glorifying forever,
and you are not one for begging promises.
Thus, I am frightened.
             and I am alive.
So please,
stay.

I am deceased with love
For poetry's sake You are my Medusa
And I your ******
Your piercing eyes solidify my heart
And turn my love for you into stone
Suffocate me with affection in our little gas chamber
The Gestapo will keep intruders at bay
Set me ablaze with madness
Let my schizophrenia watch from behind with awe
De-exorcise me from this angelic daemon LOVE
Medusa lubricate our union with your venom
I shall see to it that the Wehrmacht safeguard this treaty
African queen of infinite tantrums
***** love and hair
Ovid has already said that you are the jealous aspiration of many a suitor
What more shall I want

Years of torture
Years of pain
Years of crying
With no gain
So many that died
So many that tried
Theuy saved us all
In the end
Leaving opposers
Speechless

But a day came
When a man came
Outta prison
Then that day came
When those in vain
Stepped aside
Away from us

Freedom is inside
Freedom is outside
Our land is doing fine
We have been colonized
In the end, they say we'll die
Those oppressors
Say we'll see our time
We deny and say we're true
Our History
States our fights too

Our battles
Our struggles
Our depression
Our recession
Our reconcilliation

There was a time
When colours mattered
I'm here to say
That we're past it
People line up all the way
They hope they'll get it
They know they'll get it
To say their say
To pledge a vote
To choose a suitor
To lead us to victory!

I'm talking to you in there.  
You know how special you are.
The way he looks at you,
and you know you've been looked at that way times before this one.
He looks at you, with utter compassion.
Holding back all he wants
Because you have yet to experience the pang of loneliness that is required in order to truly understand what it means to cherish another human being.

You may start a sad story about your life,
But do you realize that the saddest part
Is that you don't see yourself the way you should?

Most heroines are overlooked by their would-be suitor
and all see the tragedy in it.
That she is not valued by them the way she deserves.
She is not looked at and sought after the way she deserves.
But who is the other person in your life, Amy?
Who is the one person that will not appreciate how incredibly coveted you are?

You.

You and only you.

Those who care not for you have no interest in bathing in your excellence.
These people are not to be minded.
But there are many who are changed for the better just by knowing you.

Why are large animals so majestic?
Because they have the undeniable ability to ravage all in their path,
but choose to do so only when it is key to survival.  

You could easily spread a wave of grief across all around you by taking a detour off of this bridge.
But it is your decision to instead change lives that shapes you as a beautiful person.  

Death is much easier than life.  
But being selfish enough to cause pain for so many people would forever damage the soul.  
Even in the next life,
they would be cursed to only being able to cause pain.

This might be the turning point in your reincarnations.  
You have the option of selfishly leaving and destroying all hope for future lives.
You have the option of taking all your pain and promising to aid all others in pain so as to be healed yourself and lead to generations of joy forever.  

So when you look back at this, and ask what the best option is, remember the title of this poem.