A fragile girl,with hair just as white as fresh snow.Her heart pounding,and her stomach growling below.Off her shoulder,grows a tree.As black as her eyes,and them, you can't even see.What the tree represents,is up to you.But remember my friend,we all carry trees too.
The teardrops run down,and fall off her nose.She cries in dark corners,where nobody goes.You can follow the tracks,from her eyes to her chin.Years upon years,and letting them win.Her eyes tell a story,of anger and pain.You think that she's happy,well just look again.The scars of her past,hidden under her clothes.They are a roadmap to places,that nobody knows.
I don't know how to be anything other than intense.I don't know how to experience without feeling and thinking too much.I don't know how to sit still and quiet my mind and just be.I am always searching, always questioning and struggling to find the meaning in everything.I am passionate and I am deep.And that's why I am so often so misunderstood.
THEY have taken the gable from the roof of clayOn the long swede pile. They have let in the sunTo the white and gold and purple of curled frondsUnsunned. It is a sight more tender-gorgeousAt the wood-corner where Winter moans and dripsThan when, in the Valley of the Tombs of Kings,A boy crawls down into a Pharaoh's tombAnd, first of Christian men, beholds the mummy,God and monkey, chariot and throne and vase,Blue pottery, alabaster, and gold.But dreamless long-dead Amen-hotep lies.This is a dream of Winter, sweet as Spring.
Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn :It listens, listens. Taller trees beyondListen. The moon at the unruffled pondStares. And you sing, you sing.That star-enchanted song falls through the airFrom lawn to lawn down terraces of sound,Darts in white arrows on the shadowed ground ;While all the night you sing.My dreams are flowers to which you are a bee,As all night long I listen, and my brainReceives your song, then loses it againIn moonlight on the lawn.Now is your voice a marble high and white,Then like a mist on fields of paradise ;Now is a raging fire, then is like ice,Then breaks, and it is dawn.
I shall return again; I shall returnTo laugh and love and watch with wonder-eyesAt golden noon the forest fires burn,Wafting their blue-black smoke to sapphire skies.I shall return to loiter by the streamsThat bathe the brown blades of the bending grasses,And realize once more my thousand dreamsOf waters rushing down the mountain passes.I shall return to hear the fiddle and fifeOf village dances, dear delicious tunesThat stir the hidden depths of native life,Stray melodies of dim remembered runes.I shall return, I shall return again,To ease my mind of long, long years of pain.