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Progeny
I spent all morning preserving
a collection of cries
work and desire
greed and fear and love
to show publicly if I should die
without children
Gedichten over het onderwerp: cry
Gedichten over het onderwerp “cry” op Poets.by.
Casualty
the war was hard to fit
into a silk coat
how many possess a cry
and never a body
and find it burdensome
to continue to see
I am fine
I just cry once in awhile out of no where
I am fine
I just ache until sleeping is all I do for weeks
I am fine
I just don't want to speak with anyone.
I am fine
I know how to make the talk and fake it with smile
I am fine
Isn't that what I am suppose to be.
I am fine
I know you never asked.
A Cry
Oh, there are eyes that he can see,
And hands to make his hands rejoice,
But to my lover I must be
Only a voice.
Oh, there are breasts to bear his head,
And lips whereon his lips can lie,
But I must be till I am dead
Only a cry.
Song Making
My heart cried like a beaten child
Ceaselessly all night long;
I had to take my own cries
And thread them into a song.
One was a cry at black midnight
And one when the first cock crew--
My heart was like a beaten child,
But no one ever knew.
Life, you have put me in your debt
And I must serve you long--
But oh, the debt is terrible
That must be paid in song.
The Spouts
I HEARD the spouts begin to cry
As I came over the hill;
How could they know the poignant thing
That I had kept so still?
Like to the gold in a king’s house,
Like to that gold there shone
Seven wet small windows, and as one
Stared me down to the bone.
And there was not in all the world
A place for me to hide
From the hurt music of that cry:
Oh, if I had but died!
Wild Swans
I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over.
And what did I see I had not seen before?
Only a question less or a question more;
Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.
Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,
House without air, I leave you and lock your door.
Wild swans, come over the town, come over
The town again, trailing your legs and crying!
Sung to the Social Reformer
Leave us our sorrows,
Take not our tears,
For long to-morrows
Of too perfect years.
To the New-born can you deny
The world-old solace of a cry;
Or to hot Youth the eternal right
To win his having with a fight?
Leave us our sorrows,
Take not our tears,
For long to-morrows
Of too perfect years.