Sweet twining hedgeflowers wind-stirred in no wise
On this June day; and hand that clings in hand:—
Still glades; and meeting faces scarcely fann’d:—
An osier-odoured stream that draws the skies
Deep to its heart; and mirrored eyes in eyes:—
Fresh hourly wonder o’er the Summer land
Of light and cloud; and two souls softly spann’d
With one o’erarching heaven of smiles and sighs:—

Even such their path, whose bodies lean unto
Each other’s visible sweetness amorously,—
Whose passionate hearts lean by Love’s high decree
Together on his heart for ever true,
As the cloud-foaming firmamental blue
Rests on the blue line of a foamless sea.

This day, taken in and of itself,
Was a great day!
Maybe yester-day wasn't so great
For my yester-self, but that's ok;
It was a different person.
I got my day and it worked out well,
I end tonight, and hope the
Person who is my tomorrow-self
Has a good day too, and like me,
Doesn't worry about the
Other days of
Other people.

We were told to bring umbrellas,
to grin and bear it till we wept,
to hold out for the sun,
yuck yuck I want none.
For the reason we came:
we'd been told there'd be rain.

Bring the children,
call the neighbors,
cuz I want to see their faces.

Singing over the stove,
crawled into the oven for warmth
and boiled by the gallons,
yum yum I want some.
Oh why did we come?
There's been only sun.

Count your blessings and your pennies
and impress all your employers
and dress like no one's watching,
tsk tsk so self-conscious.
How ya feelin'? The usual?
Just act natural, casual, and cool.

Bring the children,
call the neighbors,
cuz I want to see their faces.

unhappy man with the rottweiler grin
find your shadow's darkest part and
tell it that it does not own you anymore
and this hurricane of a 16 year old girl
is not the reason.

a million poems later and
i have not written anything
that could convince you
to love me back.

What stories could journals tell?
What we forget
is that they are not just repositories of words
but also of thoughts,
feelings,
emotions

They are places in and of themselves
Saving these emotions,
stashing them away
so they can be discovered
at a later time.

But the true beauty of these journals
lies within discovery itself

A droplet of water will fall
further
down a curved surface
taking a pale tan color
like its surroundings
It will fall off the surface
Onto the fibers of the page below
Leaving a darkened splotch

More droplets will follow
More tears will follow
As twenty years from now
A thirty-five year old woman rediscovers
the girl she once was.