Today, I had the opportunity to read some amazing poetry. Not just any kind of poetry, but love poetry. No matter how I'm feeling I always revert back to what I truly believe. That is, that old fashioned love is what I truly admire, crave and look forward to.
I began reading poems and love letters, dating back to Shakespearean times. Those were my most favourite of all. Then came poetry from the greats like: E.E. Cummings, W. B. Yeats and many more.
I think in today's world people have lost that old fashioned kind of loving feeling. Everyone seems so quick to rush into things or placate sex - claiming it to be love. What happened to Old Fashioned Love??? The kind that you see in old black and white films. Nowadays, it's all a game. A test of wills and one bed hopping experience after another. It makes me sad. Sad because I'm afraid to that there may be no one left out there who believes what I believe in, when it comes to love.
I realize now that becoming a Writer was inevitable for me. I finally understood why my truest loves have been (and will always be) music and writing. It's because words/lyrics and music are all beautifully intertwined. It's like incredibly sorcery - almost bewitching. I love words because I love, love. I write a certain way (poetically) because I believe that it's the truest form of expressing that love-romantically.
I think I'm ready to really begin writing again. It had left me for a little while, but being in pain can sometimes crush your creative spirit. Yet, after falling upon all these incredible pieces of writing today, something was restored within me.
I thought I'd share some pieces with you:
I carry your heart with me
I carry it in my heart
I am never without it
anywhere I go you go, my dear;
and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling
I fear no fate
for you are my fate, my sweet
I want no world
for beautiful you are my world, my true
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart
I carry it in my heart
~ E.E. Cummings ~
Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Inwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
~ W. B. Yeats, The Cloths of Heaven~
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
~ XVII - Pablo Neruda ~
If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemens land.
If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.
But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.
~ Emily Dickinson~
