I wrote a letter
For you to remember
The days we spent together
And the days we spent away with each other
I put my soul into it
And I know you’ll read it
I wonder if it’ll be the last letter
For you to remember the latter
I’ll give you this piece
This piece of my soul
Where I put it in a paper
And let it burn into you.
I wonder if you got the message
This message from my heart
This message from my soul
With this it all ends.
the soul is not a little man
operating in the heart or head
all right but who is that little guy
The iced winds calm my thoughts
They crash on the cliffs
The froth building upon impact
Save my soul
Help me out of this hole
Alone with the storm,
I clamber onto scraps of flotsam
I yearn to yomp out of these gallows
But you pull me back in
Save my soul.
The winds get wilder
The waves stronger
Untameable
A pause.
No wind.
Peace.
She pushed away her feelings
Blocking the world from her hurt soul
The fresh and tender sores of her heart
Because she had gotten hurt too many times to let just anybody in
Maybe that's why people thought she was heartless
When honestly
She was only just hidden and still beating more than anybody would know
When star explodes, its billion times brighter than a sun. But that big supernova is how the star dies.
I guess its the same when a soul with too much words explodes, it cause
an utter silence.
Rain fell out of the cloud of time.
It made no argument. Droplets
blotched a blond meadow. Out
of the pattern a leopard arose.
Its eyes reflected the cloud of time.
An old small city is my soul,
such as it is. The leopard watches
over it, her breathing and her heartbeat
syncopated. I do not visit there as often
as I should: Work is elsewhere
in factory-towns of will. When
the small city seems to call, I take
a road curved round a cliff. Up there
sits the leopard. The ledge is blue.
Arrived, I seek a sanguine plaza. People
I have tried to be loiter there. They slouch
My soul, in search of skylights,
Climbed flights of stairs,
Hit its head on attic beams,
Fell over cast-off chairs.
It went back down to rooms
Of routine, fearful days,
Persistent anxious nights,
And weary, wearing ways—
Went further—to a basement,
To be desperate and low,
Stumbled there on blueprints
For skylights, what do you know?
The ancient song of my heart
Comes and goes in Life's light.
Sudden, a glow, a rainbow.
Draws its line across the breast of my soul.
"Ghost of my soul," I shout,
"That cries only to curse me?"
Tip, tip, tip . . . thus the rain falls.
Where is my love--
In silence and shadow she lies,Under the April-grey, calm waste of the skies;
And a bird above,
In the darkness tender and clear,
Keeps saying over and over, Love lies here!
Not that she's dead;
Only her soul is flownOut of its last pure earthly mansion;
And cries instead
In the darkness, tender and clear,
Like the voice of a bird in the leaves, Love--love lies here.
Sickness brought me this
Thought, in that scale of his:
Why should I be dismayed
Though flame had burned the whole
World, as it were a coal,
Now I have seen it weighed
Against a soul?
I GAVE my first love laughter,
I gave my second tears,
I gave my third love silence
Thru all the years.
My first love gave me singing,
My second eyes to see,
But oh, it was my third love
Who gave my soul to me.