A Certain Softer Passion Poem by James McLain

Why you afflict it and do not care,
heavy exposure my dissatisfaction,
you like but I am forced to seem to many, I make,
to however dare not to say itself never wanted to say,
I seem dumb rigid but towards lt's interior with the face.
I am and not, I freeze but am flaring.
Since of me another individual you turned.
My care is like my shade;
with the sun and night moon full as it follows Me
around the hazy edges the arrow darts, flies when I continue it,
is held and been by me, does what I made of it.
Its does too with familiar of care show me the sky.
Action means which I find to remove it from my centre, death with warm breath the end of the things it is supprest.
A certain softer passion slip into my sleeping spirit,
because I soft and am made snow of cast iron;
Or be crueler, love, and are this to pleasant smile.
Leave me or float or go down, are high or low.
Or let live to me with even more soft dreamy contents,
or die and forget this which love left before us meant