BUTTERFLIES

I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.

- John Keats -

REMEMBRANCE

Cold in the earth - and the deep snow piled above thee,

Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave!

Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,

Severed at last by Time's all severing wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover

Over the mountains, on that northern shore,

Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover

Thy noble heart for ever, ever more?

Cold in the earth - and fifiteen wild Decembers,

From those brown hills, have melted into spring:

Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers

After such years of change and suffering!

Sweet love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,

While the world's tide is bearing me along;

Other desires and other hopes beset me,

Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

No later light has lightened up my heaven,

No second morn has ever shone for me;

All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,

All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,

And even Despair was powerless to destroy;

Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,

Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

Then did I check the tears of useless passion-

Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;

Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten

Down to that tomb already more than mine.

And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,

Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;

Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,

How could I seek the empty world again?

- Emily Bronte

THE BLUEBIRD

there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going to let anybody see you.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks never know that he’s in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay down, do you want to mess me up?
you want to blow my book sales in Europe?

there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there, so don’t be sad.

then I put him back, but he’s singing a little in there,
I haven’t quite let him die
and we sleep together like that
with our secret pact
and it’s nice enough to make a man weep, but I don’t
weep, do you?

- CHARLES BUKOWSKI-