for your pain will keep giving birth to more pain
until your eyes constantly exhale love
as effortlessly as your body yields its scent.’
Similar Posts
Sonnet 122: Thy Gift, Thy Tables, Are Within My Brain by William Shakespeare
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy powerDost hold Time’s fickle glass his fickle hour;Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’stThy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st.If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skillMay Time disgrace, and wretched…
Lord, said David, since you do not need us,
Reality replied: O prisoner of time,I was a secret treasure of kindness and generosity,and I wished this treasure to be known,so I created a mirror: its shining face, the heart;its darkened back, the world;The back would please you if you’ve never seen the face.Has anyone ever produced a mirror out of mud and straw?Yet clean…
Geomantic
Spruce of the darkOntarian orchards,spoor of the interior,I emerge into uncalculatedgrain shattering at the crown. As the sky answersagainst the watercourse,so I take my fewexceptions with God.Nothing so irredeemableas the robber cowbird,as the slump of the fisherunraveling its host. The great brains of the beechesdivest themselves so sparingly.I will outstay everythingfor the seasonal observance.Dried silicles,…
Sonnets Xii by William Shakespeare
HOW like a Winter hath my absence beenFrom thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen,What old December’s bareness everywhere!And yet this time removed was summer’s time;The teeming Autumn, big with rich increase,Bearing the wanton burden of the primeLike widow’d wombs after their Lord’s decease:Yet this abundant issue…
The moon has become a dancer
This dance of light,This sacred blessing,This divine love,beckons usto a world beyondonly lovers can seewith their eyes of fiery passion.They are the chosen oneswho have surrendered.Once they were particles of lightnow they are the radiant sun.They have left behindthe world of deceitful games.They are the privileged loverswho create a new worldwith their eyes of fiery…
Sonnet Cxxxiv by William Shakespeare
So, now I have confess’d that he is thine,And I myself am mortgaged to thy will,Myself I’ll forfeit, so that other mineThou wilt restore, to be my comfort still:But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,For thou art covetous and he is kind;He learn’d but surety-like to write for meUnder that bond that…