Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

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 loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every 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 rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed 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.
...

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast


...

I want to laugh with you 'bout silly things
And talk about the joy life brings
Play you my favorite CD
And tell you everything about me
Tell you about the mistakes I've made
And the reason for my pet hate
I want to show you what I looked like as a baby
When we have nothing to do but be lazy
I want you to be my best friend
I want this to never end

...

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
...

Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry -
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.

In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams;
A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
That will drink deeply of a century's streams;
These lilies shall make summer on my dust.


...

You look me in the eyes and speak my name,
As if my life were nothing but a game,
A kingdom built on foundations of grief,
Where you find your joy and your relief.

While we are drowning in the tears we cry,
You dance beneath a dark and weeping sky,
Twirling in the rain of our despair,
With a heart as cold as the winter air.


...

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes;
With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise:
Arise, arise!
...

To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed,
Scented and warm against my beating breast;

To whisper soft and quivering your name,
And drink the passion burning in your frame;

To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek,
And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak

Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words,

...

She burns on the inside,
a quiet heat she never shows,
the kind that sits behind her ribs
and pretends to be fine.
She laughs in the daylight,
but at night her thoughts flare up,
sparks turning into storms
she can't switch off.
She told two friends,
voice shaking,

...