I wouldn't paint a thousand sunsFor all they'd be is emptyUnless they are for everyoneBut I guess one is plentyThere they are in the skyShining like new pennies
Phrases keep sticking and fallingTo my brainLike band aidsMetaphorsLike how in mathIf I were put on a graphThere would be no solutionBut I could not be two parallel linesLike how Oreos can split apart in any wayAnd I can split apart in any wayAnd I am splitting apart in every way
The biggest fears have no denouementIs a fear in itselfI tell people'Roller coasters scare me'But they endSome leave us tremblingOur legs to give out from under usThe tears starting and stoppingUntil whatUntil whenThere is no denouement for the worst onesAnd that is earth shattering
My brother used to tell me a taleA humorous fiction about a manWho threw wide the doorBut wasn't thereYou could hear a bird chirpingOr a dog yippingThe door would unlockBut he wasn't thereI distress that will happenThat the door might openBut I won't be thereI unlock, turn, openDog barksNot thereNot coeval with the door
Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,Let me once know.I sought thee in a secret cave,And ask'd, if Peace were there,A hollow wind did seem to answer, No:Go seek elsewhere.I did; and going did a rainbow note:Surely, thought I,This is the lace of Peace's coat:I will search out the matter.But while I looked the clouds immediatelyDid break and scatter.Then went I to a garden and did spyA gallant flower,The crown-imperial: Sure, said I,
Nature -- the Gentlest Mother is,Impatient of no Child --The feeblest -- or the waywardest --Her Admonition mild --In Forest -- and the Hill --By Traveller -- be heard --Restraining Rampant Squirrel --Or too impetuous Bird --How fair Her Conversation --A Summer Afternoon --Her Household -- Her Assembly --And when the Sun go down --Her Voice among the AislesIncite the timid prayerOf the minutest Cricket --The most unworthy Flower --
If faithful souls be alike glorifiedAs angels, then my fathers soul doth see,And adds this even to full felicity,That valiantly I hells wide mouth o'erstride:But if our minds to these souls be descriedBy circumstances, and by signs that beApparent in us, not immediately,How shall my mind's white truth by them be tried?They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn,And vile blasphemous conjurers to callOn Jesus name, and PharisaicalDissemblers feigne devotion. Then turn,O pensive soul, to God, for he knows bestThy true grief, for he put it in my breast.