I'm in love with her. She is beautiful. I dont know where I have her or whether she notices me or not. She is far from perfect, yet so ideal. Every time I have a chance of seeing her I do my very best, I talk to her and make her laugh.
All I want is for her to be with me. I want to take her soul into mine.
She makes me belong.
Poems for this feel?
For her to be in my arms and for me to be in hers
The day couldnt come soon enough
The day she finds me
> I want to take her soul into mine
>Poems for this feel?
But as all several souls contain
Mixture of things, they know not what,
Love these mix'd souls does mix again
And makes both one, each this and that.
A single violet transplant,
The strength, the colour, and the size,
(All which before was poor and scant)
Redoubles still, and multiplies.
When love with one another so
Interinanimates two souls,
That abler soul, which thence doth flow,
Defects of loneliness controls.
We then, who are this new soul, know
Of what we are compos'd and made,
But oh alas, so long, so far,
Our bodies why do we forbear?
They'are ours, though they'are not we; we are
The intelligences, they the spheres.
We owe them thanks, because they thus
Did us, to us, at first convey,
Yielded their senses' force to us,
Nor are dross to us, but allay.
On man heaven's influence works not so,
But that it first imprints the air;
So soul into the soul may flow,
Though it to body first repair.
And if some lover, such as we,
Have heard this dialogue of one,
Let him still mark us, he shall see
Small change, when we'are to bodies gone.
Close my eyes
Feel me now
I don't know how you could not love me now
You will know, with her feet down to the ground
Over there, and I want true love to grow
You can't hide, oh no, from the way I feel
Turn my head
Into sound
I don't know when I lay down on the ground
You will find your hand down hurts to love
Never cared, and the world turned hearts to love
We will see, oh now, in a day or two
You will wait
See me go
I don't care, when you're head turned all along
You will wait, when I turn my eyes around
Overhead when I hold you next to me
Overhead, to know the way I see
Close my eyes
Feel me now
I don't know, maybe you could not hurt me now
Here alone, when I feel down too
Over there, when I await true love for you
You can hide, oh now, the way I do
You can see, oh now, oh the way I do
genuinely the worst piece of writing ever read on this website and there have been some real doozys
they're lyrics, whispered so low into the mix as to be inaudible anyway
When from thine error, dark, degrading,
With words of fiery persuading,
I drew thy fallen spirit out;
And thou, thy hands in anguish wringing,
Didst curse, filled with a torment stinging,
The sin that compassed thee about;
When thou, thy conscience dilatory
Chastising with the memory's shame,
Didst there unfold to me the story
Of that which was before I came;
And sudden with thy two hands shielding
In loathing and dismay thy face,
To floods of tears I saw thee yielding,
O'erwhelmed, yea prostrate with disgrace--
[About here Dostoevsky's narrator cuts off this poem with:" . . . / etc., etc., etc./ From the poetry of N. A. Nekrasov]"
Trust me! thy tale did not importune;
I caught each word and tired not.
I understand, child of misfortune!
I pardoned all, and all forgot.
Why is it then, a secret doubting
Still preys upon thee every hour?
The world's opinion, thoughtless flouting,
Holds even thee too in its power?
Heed not the world, its lies dissembling,
Henceforth from all thy doubts be free;
Nor let thy soul, unduly trembling,
Still harbor thoughts that torture thee.
By grieving fruitlessly and vainly
Warm not the serpents in thy breast,
Into my house come bold and free,
Its rightful mistress there to be.
>inaudible anyways
Are you blasting the volume enough? I know the whole album is mixed quiet but I'm pretty sure it's on you to blast the volume.
The island dreams under the dawn
And great boughs drop tranquillity;
The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,
A parrot sways upon a tree,
Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.
Here we will moor our lonely ship
And wander ever with woven hands,
Murmuring softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sands,
Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:
How we alone of mortals are
Hid under quiet boughs apart,
While our love grows an Indian star,
A meteor of the burning heart,
One with the tide that gleams, the wings that gleam and dart,
The heavy boughs, the burnished dove
That moans and sighs a hundred days:
How when we die our shades will rove,
When eve has hushed the feathered ways,
With vapoury footsole by the water’s drowsy blaze.
Too wordy for me, a brainlet
MBV btfod