Write this. We have burned all their villages
Write this. We have burned all the villages and the people in them
Write this. We have adopted their customs and their manner of dress
Write this. A word may be shaped like a bed, a basket of tears or an X
In the notebook it says, It is the time of mutations, laughter at jokes,
secrets beyond the boundaries of speech
......
When the white flame in us is gone,
And we that lost the world's delight
Stiffen in darkness, left alone
To crumble in our separate night;
When your swift hair is quiet in death,
And through the lips corruption thrust
Has stilled the labour of my breath --
When we are dust, when we are dust! --
......
When June comes dancing o'er the death of May,
With scarlet roses tinting her green breast,
And mating thrushes ushering in her day,
And Earth on tiptoe for her golden guest,
I always see the evening when we met--
The first of June baptized in tender rain--
And walked home through the wide streets, gleaming wet,
Arms locked, our warm flesh pulsing with love's pain.
......
Friend, in the desolate time, when your soul is enshrouded in darkness
When, in a deep abyss, memory and feeling die out,
Intellect timidly gropes among shadowy forms and illusions
Heart can no longer sigh, eye is unable to weep;
When, from your night-clouded soul the wings of fire have fallen
And you, to nothing, afraid, feel yourself sinking once more,
Say, who rescues you then?—Who is the comforting angel
Brings to your innermost soul order and beauty again,
Building once more your fragmented world, restoring the fallen
Altar, and when it is raised, lighting the sacred flame?-—
......
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
......
I was an active, prominent architect, like fervent stars which race the sun,
Or exotic, summer flowers that bloom vibrantly, creating rapturous visions.
I'd wrought modernist skyscrapers, as huge trees lean into a bronze glaze,
On raspberry, latter days, quite lovely, when azure blue jays sing in praise.
I had designed homes and buildings, to the plumb delight of stylish people,
While satisfying the favorable environment, with novel, vivid colors, gleeful.
I had built homes for family members, the loved ones who made life sunlit,
......
down in wild jade fields
beams orange sun revelry
scents in laughing wind
birds raise the gold roof
wildflowers trumpet colors
in mint fresh meadows
wide eyed awaking
and all dressed up for soon dance
......
I was aspiring to be a professional dancer, which had long been my dream,
As rogue planets head out on their own, from the stars that reign supreme.
I was awash in unbounded enthusiasm, like yellow sunshine's fresh sheen,
Or premier, perennial days of springtime, the time all is budding and green.
But, despite my unfailing readiness, I had a likely insurmountable problem,
In the fact that my dancing was mediocre, artless to the beat of the drum.
Though this was somewhat discouraging, I continued practicing and trying,
......
here they come again
windblown fugitives of gold
dancing with flowers
sun's shadow dancers
green fluttering leaves darkly
silhouette party
purple birds glide by
dusky beats upon the ground
......
Creeping warm and green
when the sun returned golden,
spring sang in meadows.
Blooming mountains, bumblebees-
all danced to loved melodies.