life doesn't give me angelic voices, no guardian angels whispers of assurancemaybe its that way because I believe it is.. or maybe i just haven't learned the language yet
The scorching heat.The chafing winds.The grinding sands.The rushing of a river.A single drop, the water of worlds.A gentle mist of wind.A softness of skin.A burning of strain.Pool the blood, the source of life.Carving of flesh.Breaking of bone.Living of death.To suffer and to solace, both to live and to die.
i feel your arms around me and i embrace youyour head pressed against my chestflecks of your makeup brush onto my shirti could care less if my shirt bears the stainsyou feel unwell but i feel at peace holding you for the first timei want you to feel better and the same i don't want you to leaveas you press against my torso with your arms around my backi gently hold you feeling the curvature of your lower backyour hair brushing over my arm the smell of you so particulari've never experienced this before i've never experienced you beforeeven as the moment ends and you recover enough to stand aloneit never ends for me still playing now as i remember you on that night
It sounded as if the Streets were runningAnd then -- the Streets stood still --Eclipse -- was all we could see at the WindowAnd Awe -- was all we could feel.By and by -- the boldest stole out of his CovertTo see if Time was there --Nature was in an Opal Apron,Mixing fresher Air.
Consulting summer's clock,But half the hours remain.I ascertain it with a shock --I shall not look again.The second half of joyIs shorter than the first.The truth I do not dare to knowI muffle with a jest.
IT seems I have no tears left. They should have fallen--Their ghosts, if tears have ghosts, did fall--that dayWhen twenty hounds streamed by me, not yet combedoutBut still all equals in their rage of gladnessUpon the scent, made one, like a great dragonIn Blooming Meadow that bends towards the sunAnd once bore hops: and on that other dayWhen I stepped out from the double-shadowed TowerInto an April morning, stirring and sweetAnd warm. Strange solitude was there and silence.A mightier charm than any in the TowerPossessed the courtyard. They were changing guardSoldiers in line, young English countrymen,Fair-haired and ruddy, in white tunics. Drums