Is there a border? I feel no border. I hear no border. I neither smell nor taste a border. But I see a border. If there were no light, there would be no border. If all were light, there would be no border.
The border is the border of light and dark. Shadow and illumination.
On one side of the border, in the shadow of a great building, (once the home of a wealthy family, now a site of wisdom and scholarship) is the dark. Just inches away, the earth is drenched in lemon light of early morning sun.
The dark grass is old. It has been dark grass since sunset last night. It is dying: in a few hours, there will be no dark grass. The sun will rise, and by noon it will have killed the dark grass, and supplanted it with glittering green grass. The old dark grass knows this, as it knows many things – those hours in the dark have given it time to think, to philosophise, to learn – but eventually the sun will set again, and it will be born again. Thus it is subdued, and quiet, knowing its own death
In Response To AnguishRejection lingers, but I'll get through
Sadness also, but I can live with it too
It's hard, but loneliness I can deal with
Not understanding, hurts me to my pith
You cried for me to set you free
I heard you, and tried to let you be
You get the knives in your heart
I get them too, they tear me apart
You say there's no way of telling, dearest
But talking to me would be the clearest
For love you're condemned to death at the stake
But I am left alone, to wait, to break
Seeing you hurting makes me cry
But when I see this, I want to die
I don't understand this, what do I do
Do you adore me, or is our love through
"Love is my monster, and you are my love."
If I am the monster, then you are my dove
But what makes me beastly, or am I no beast
If I am no monster, can we not upon love feast
"I adore you, oh creature mine."
This is what I was looking for, this line
But at the end of your poem, I'm confused
I don't know how you feel, and I'm left bruised