Ay, this is freedom!--these pure skies
  Were never stained with village smoke:
The fragrant wind, that through them flies,
  Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke.
Here, with my rifle and my steed,
  And her who left the world for me,
I plant me, where the red deer feed
  In the green desert--and am free.

For here the fair savannas know
  No barriers in the bloomy grass;
Wherever breeze of heaven may blow,
  Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass.
In pastures, measureless as air,
  The bison is my noble game;
The bounding elk, whose antlers tear
  The branches, falls before my aim.

Mine are the river-fowl that scream
  From the long stripe of waving sedge;
The bear that marks my weapon's gleam,
  Hides vainly in the forest's edge;
In vain the she-wolf stands at bay;
  The brinded catamount, that lies
High in the boughs to watch his prey,
  Even in the act of springing, dies.

With what free growth the elm and plane
  Fling their huge arms across my way,
Gray, old, and cumbered with a train
  Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray!
Free stray the lucid streams, and find
  No taint in these fresh lawns and shades;
Free spring the flowers that scent the wind
  Where never scythe has swept the glades.

Alone the Fire, when frost-winds sere
  The heavy herbage of the ground,
Gathers his annual harvest here,
  With roaring like the battle's sound,
And hurrying flames that sweep the plain,
  And smoke-streams gushing up the sky:
I meet the flames with flames again,
  And at my door they cower and die.

Here, from dim woods, the aged past
  Speaks solemnly; and I behold
The boundless future in the vast
  And lonely river, seaward rolled.
Who feeds its founts with rain and dew;
  Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass,
And trains the bordering vines, whose blue
  Bright clusters tempt me as I pass?

Broad are these streams--my steed obeys,
  Plunges, and bears me through the tide.
Wide are these woods--I thread the maze
  Of giant stems, nor ask a guide.
I hunt till day's last glimmer dies
  O'er woody vale and grassy height;
And kind the voice and glad the eyes
  That welcome my return at night.

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where:
For so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak,
I found the arrow still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

Some say your greatest enemy is yourself
That lesser you inside, that little puppet, that elf
Strings to your fingers, strings to your toes
One to your spine and one to your nose
   You can tumble and crash and he’ll be unbroke
Witty and gritty, as elusive as smoke
Post tumble’s when he’s most likely to speak
His strings are strung tightest, whenever you’re weak
   Not to wait then, until you are broken
Give him the stage and he’ll have already spoken
He feeds best on virtue, this gritty little elf
So feed him his share, as you would your belly’s self
   Virtues is the sort, that means then not vices
His tastes may seem bland so be weary of spices
Heed not this advice, and we’ve a puppet…
Left to his own devices
   Not worth getting clever, don’t saw at those strings
You’ll soon find out they’re sinewy things
Introduce yourselves; it could help if you’ve met
The you inside you,
                                  that mischievous marionette

When all around grew drear and dark,
And reason half withheld her ray—
And hope but shed a dying spark
Which more misled my lonely way;

In that deep midnight of the mind,
And that internal strife of heart,
When dreading to be deemed too kind,
The weak despair—the cold depart;

When fortune changed—and love fled far,
And hatred’s shafts flew thick and fast,
Thou wert the solitary star
Which rose, and set not to the last.

Oh, blest be thine unbroken light!
That watched me as a seraph’s eye,
And stood between me and the night,
For ever shining sweetly nigh.

And when the cloud upon us came,
Which strove to blacken o’er thy ray—
Then purer spread its gentle flame,
And dashed the darkness all away.

Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,
And teach it what to brave or brook—
There’s more in one soft word of thine
Than in the world’s defied rebuke.

Thou stood’st as stands a lovely tree
That, still unbroke though gently bent,
Still waves with fond fidelity
Its boughs above a monument.

The winds might rend, the skies might pour,
But there thou wert—and still wouldst be
Devoted in the stormiest hour
To shed thy weeping leaves o’er me.

But thou and thine shall know no blight,
Whatever fate on me may fall;
For heaven in sunshine will requite
The kind—and thee the most of all.

Then let the ties of baffled love
Be broken—thine will never break;
Thy heart can feel—but will not move;
Thy soul, though soft, will never shake.

And these, when all was lost beside,
Were found, and still are fixed in thee;—
And bearing still a breast so tried,
Earth is no desert—e’en to me.

"it's august 16th and
i'm feeling a bit better.
michael broke up with
me and then unbroke
up with me. he says
he loves me and then
he turns around and
acts mean to me. i
don't get it. it doesn't
seem right. just saying."

I'd lost my light
I'd lost my hope
Been broken and used
And left all alone
Shattered and sinking
The darker she fell
How she could be happy
You never could tell

You were my light
You were my hope
Took a broken girl
And made her feel unbroke
Plastered her cuts
Made her feel loved
Held onto her tightly
And earned fragile trust

You were my light
You were my hope
Took a broken girl
And tied her a rope
Slowly and painfully
Pushed her away
Ignoring, avoiding
What can i I say

I was once broken
Then you fixed me up
Stood me on a chair
And gave me the shove.