Belles-Lettres

You’re still in that life --but not really. And your out of that life --but not quite. Come to stay or Stay away To give you up God! What a bell of freedom That rings within me No more waiting for Letters Phone calls Post cards That never come . I am afraid that I will run out of poems Before I run out of pain. I rained, rain. The sun will rise In a few minutes It’s been doing it --regularly-- for as long as I can remember. Maybe I should pin my hopes on important, but often unnoticed, certainties like that, not on such relatively trivial matters as whether you will never love me or not. Hurt for a while. I hope I heal soon. I want to enjoy Autumn. You are beautiful just because you are. You require time to heal. Give yourself the luxury. You deserve it. I shall miss loving you. I shall miss the Comfort Of your embrace. I shall miss the Loneliness Of waiting for your calls That never came. I shall miss the Joy Of our comings, and Pain of your goings. And, After a time I shall miss Mis...

"I still believe in paradise, but now at least I know it is not some place that you can look for because it is not where you go... It's how you feel for a moment in your life when you are a part of something. And if you find that moment, it lasts forever."

I grieve and not dare show my discontent, I love and yet am forced to seem to hate, I do, yet dare not say I ever meant, I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate. I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned, Since from myself another self I turned. My care is like my shadow in the sun Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it, Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done. His too familiar care doth make me rue it. No means I find to rid him from my breast, Till by the end of things it be suppressed. Some gentler passion slide into my mind, For I am soft and made of snow; Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind. Let me float or sink, be high or low. Or let me live with some more sweet content, Or die and so forget what love ere meant.