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Hers was usual, his, an art
Ever finding solace in a single word
Little he said, the world he meant
Learning and yearning to be heard
Only if she knew, to hear love in hello!

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold...
        

A poet once killed a man,
And all gathered to watch him hang
The sole poet, noose in neck
A death fitting for his life
Just before they hanged him
They wondered who’d tell their tales
Of their miseries and victory
They...

When you smile, my heart flutters.
Seeing your face, joy captures me—
so deeply I cannot escape it.
Just know I love you.

My knees weaken.
My focus dissolves.
With only a glimpse of you,
my body forgets its...

Who will sing the song
That woke us up every morning
The blue bird chirps a melody
Sweet as it seems, we hear an elegy
The sun rises in the East
But it's not a new dawn
Just another day to be withdrawn
Whoever finds the...

I love red,
not in the way most do,
with roses or sunsets,
but in the way it bleeds—
bleeds from my soul.
I wear it on my skin
like a silent scream,
a language only I understand,
when the world becomes too...

Ecstatic bird songs pound
the hollow vastness of the sky
with metallic clinkings—
beating color up into it
at a far edge,—beating it, beating it
with rising, triumphant ardor,—
stirring it into warmth,
quickening in it a spreading...
        

I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;

Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.

The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame...

Sun and wind and beat of sea,
Great lands stretching endlessly…
Where be bonds to bind the free?
All the world was made for me!

And when I’m high
Like the sky
I can’t help but ponder
Is it luck
Or is this it

And when I sink
To the very depths below
Still, I ponder
Is it a phase
Or is this it?

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

The winds of time like a housemaid,
Imperfectly gathered every careless word
Stitched them with aching precision
Behold, a coat of shame.
With a warmth as heavy as the guilt
An unholy fusion of past and present
It had...