Name's Barf. I'm a mog, half man half dog. I"m my own best friend.

Friday, October 14, 2011

e.e. cummings


The joys of being an English major:

dive for dreams
or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots
and wind is wind) 
trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward) 
honour the past
but welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at the wedding) 
never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for good likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth) 
in spite of everything
which breathes and moves, since Doom
(with white longest hands
neating each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds 
-before leaving my room
i turn, and (stooping
through the morning) kiss
this pillow, dear
where our heads lived and were.


And...

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eys have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes 
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

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