“I Am”

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows;
My friends forsake me like a memory lost:
I am the self-consumer of my woes—
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes
And yet I am, and live—like vapors tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
Even the dearest that I loved the best
Are strange—nay, rather, stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

– By John Clare




that lunar tug faded
all bodies of stardust go through their phases
phased through like apparitions indiscreet
a blood storm to lament with angels
other such melodramatic happenings
happy to romanticize happenstance
happy to watch others cry and dance
sad to leave the hearth with neutrality
unforced, naive
with force now, down seven circles
some souvenir smiles, for you
unforced, at ease
in garden pavilions, vilified
on a dark morning, mourning
politely, explode with things unsaid
re-form, as it was written
to never write again
unforced, release

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I stand here at the edge
Of our galaxy
Where Existence expands without a note.
Out here, Disturbance reigns
As Birth and Death dance
To a harmonic orchestra of deafening Silence.
A thousand worlds collapse
A thousand others are crowned
I scream here at the edge
Of cosmic abyss and
I do not make a sound.