…of this life

There still are so many moments
I know nothing of this life…
to be looked upon
as though no other exists
or tenderly cherished
or written of poetically 
I don’t know what it’s like to lay
my head upon a chest
and hear a heart beating 
only for me
the rise & fall of lungs
sounds of  something precious 
sounds of a thousand years breathing
I want to feel that sound
know that kind of ancient love
before I die in this life

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15 thoughts on “…of this life

  1. My Favorite poem

    Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art”

    By John Keats

    Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— 
             Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night 
    And watching, with eternal lids apart, 
             Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite, 
    The moving waters at their priestlike task 
             Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores, 
    Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask 
             Of snow upon the mountains and the moors— 
    No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, 
             Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast, 
    To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, 
             Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, 
    Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, 
    And so live ever—or else swoon to death

    Liked by 1 person

      1. NOW here’s my version I wrote many years ago:

        SO CONSTANT

        Oh this bright moon if only I were so constant.
        Not drifting along the darkened skies all night
        And watching, with eyes ever wide in torment
        As nature’s lone insomniac in sleepless plight.
        The swell of the mighty sea, at his arduous feat
        Of endless washing earth’s rough rocky shores,
        Or gazing so solemnly upon freshly fallen sheet
        Of snow upon mountain roofs and valley floors;
        No– to still be as constant and still immovable
        Resting quietly upon my love’s delicate breast.
        Oh! just to feel forever its delicate rise and fall,
        For me to never sleep, to stay in sweet distress.
        That still, I might always listen to her soft sigh,
        Therefore to live eternally, else eclipse and die.

        So Constant is my sonnet homage to my favorite poet John Keats’

        Liked by 1 person

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