the story-tellers - part 49

e.e. cummings

you are tired, (i think)

of the always puzzle of living and doing;

and so am i.

come with me, then, 

and we'll leave it far and far away -

(only you and i, understand!)

you have played, (i think)

and broke the toys you were fondest of, 

and are a little tired now;

tired of things that break, and -

just tired.

so am i.

but i come with a dream in my eyes tonight,

and knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart -

open to me!

for i will show you the places nobody knows,

and, if you like,

the perfect places of sleep.

ah, come with me!

i'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,

that floats forever and a day;

i'll sing you the jacinth song

of the probable stars;

i will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,

until i find the only flower,

which shall keep (i think) your little heart

while the moon comes out of the sea.

t.s eliot

for i have know them all already, known them all -

have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

i have measured out my life with coffee spoons.

ted hughes

nobody wanted your dance,

nobody wanted your strange glitter, your floundering

drowning life and your effort to save yourself,

treading water, dancing the dark turmoil,

looking for something to give.

pablo neruda

i love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

james joyce

they lived and laughed and loved and left.