CONTEMPLATION

HOU, O my Grief, be wise and tranquil still,

The eve is thine which even now drops down,

To carry peace or care to human will,

And in a misty veil enfolds the town.

 

While the vile mortals of the multitude,

By pleasure, cruel tormentor, goaded on,

Gather remorseful blossoms in light mood--

Grief, place thy hand in mine, let us be gone

 

Far from them. Lo, see how the vanished years,

In robes outworn lean over heaven's rim;

And from the water, smiling through her tears,

 

Remorse arises, and the sun grows dim;

And in the east, her long shroud trailing light,

List, O my grief, the gentle steps of Night. 

by: Charles Baudelaire

THE TEMPTATION

HE Demon, in my chamber high,

This morning came to visit me,

And, thinking he would find some fault,

He whispered: "I would know of thee

 

Among the many lovely things

That make the magic of her face,

Among the beauties, black and rose,

That make her body's charm and grace,

 

Which is most fair?" Thou didst reply

To the Abhorred, O soul of mine:

"No single beauty is the best

When she is all one flower divine.

 

When all things charm me I ignore

Which one alone brings most delight;

She shines before me like the dawn,

And she consoles me like the night.

 

The harmony is far too great,

That governs all her body fair,

For impotence to analyse

And say which note is sweetest there.

 

O mystic metamorphosis!

My senses into one sense flow--

Her voice makes perfume when she speaks,

Her breath is music faint and low!" 

 

by: Charles Baudelaire

“Alone”

From childhood’s hour I have not been

As others were—I have not seen

As others saw—I could not bring

My passions from a common spring—

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow—I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone—

And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—

Then—in my childhood—in the dawn

Of a most stormy life—was drawn

From ev’ry depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still—

From the torrent, or the fountain—

From the red cliff of the mountain—

From the sun that ’round me roll’d

In its autumn tint of gold—

From the lightning in the sky

As it pass’d me flying by—

From the thunder, and the storm—

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view—

 By Edgar Allan Poe

What I Wanted

What I Wanted

I guess what I wanted was to hear
you'd stay with me always.
I guess what I wanted was to see
those hands vowing never to leave my own.
I guess what I wanted to know was
I am not loving in vain.

"I Guess What I Wanted Was"

"I Guess What I Wanted Was"


I guess what I
wanted was
to hear

you'd stay with me always.

I guess what I
wanted was
to see

those hands vowing
never to leave my own.

I guess what
I wanted was
to know

I am not loving in vain.

Don't Stand Too Close To Prophets From Missouri

Don't Stand Too Close To Prophets From Missouri

My ribcage shatters apart to expose
Splintering fragments of brittle bone
I scrape them up into a pile
Offer them to you with a smile
Carving into this sordid heart of mine
With ink spilled from the grip of your fingertips
It spells the words I've never heard
Uttered from the sinister curls of your lips
And the lusting lick of your desire across my death bed of wilted roses
I feel your hunger devouring what's left of mine to give
Your kisses I repress with my tongue
But I'll give in until you're done
I'll beg for more down on knees with prayers
when our course has had its run into the immolation of the sun
We'll end our affairs and leave it unrepaired
dwelling in the darkness that we've built upstairs
I fall into your black tracing scars upon your attack
I feel the bones break in your back
When we collapse our arms around ourselves
Holding tight into a mendacious night
seething with tumultuous roars
Our bellies hungrily ache for each others' taste
We satiate ourselves until the early whisper of dawn
Leaving our scars in scraps of flesh and song
The bite of your bitterness sings along

So tattered I leave beside you
So shattered I break inside you
So torn to be reborn without you

We mourn the morning of our scorn
Pressing it into the palms of our hands
Pushing deeper this belly ache of rotten thoughts and perceptions
Those secret discretions buried clear in our deceptions and flatlined intentions
We have lived this life we give with smoldered chances rendered
Not a moment to spare for the tired or mentored
Guided by the guilty jilted mistakes of our indiscretions
Our hands are bathed in the blood of our love
It takes every ounce of me not to give in to reminiscing of missing what we're dismissing
We're lost searching with no profound calling to take hold of our hands and lead us into the light
just speechless apparitions given into desperations of heartache and failure
seeking a savior to release this pressure building inside the beating of our entwined hearts

Payphone

Mistakes I've Made

I've made my share of mistakes. I lost count somewhere along the way between heartache and heartbreak. I am transient. I've made so many mistakes. I've hurt enough friends and been hurt enough to know when it isn't worth it. I know when to run. I've made mistakes by judging too quickly by giving up too easily. I've made mistakes by holding on too long. Yeah, I've made mistakes when deciding who to trust. I've made mistakes by talking when I shouldn't and trusting blindly. I've made mistakes. I've hurt others, I've been hurt. I have loved, I have lost those I loved. I've made mistakes. I once thought forever was a promise. I learned that promises can't be kept when you die. I've made mistakes, given power to those who don't deserve it- could never earn it, are not worth it. I've been hurt so many times that I began to realize the point isn't to learn from my mistakes. The point is to run away and never face them. I've made mistakes. I have hurt those I love and I have loved those who hurt me. They will never be forgiven. I've lied so many times my mind has become unrecognizable - a twisted disfigurement of reality. I've made so many mistakes. I know how to recognize them. I know when to call it over, I know when it's not worth it. I know when I cannot take any more. I know I've made mistakes. I will never be perfect. My life is a never ending train of screw-ups, but I have finally realized something. I have learned that through all of the mistakes I have made, everything I haven't done right, knowing you never was, will never be a mistake. ~Elizabeth Grace

Ralph Waldo Emerson

What lies behind us, and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.

Thomas Moore

"Romantic love is an illusion. Most of us discover this truth at the end of a love affair or else when the sweet emotions of love lead us into marriage and then turn down their flames."

Socrates

"The hottest love has the coldest end."