"Love Song"
by Mary Carolyn Davies

There is a strong wall about me to protect me:

It is built of the words you have said to me.

There are swords about me to keep me safe:

They are the kisses of your lips.

Before me goes a shield to guard me from harm:

It is the shadow of your arms between me and danger.

All the wishes of my mind know your name,

And the white desires of my heart

They are acquainted with you.

The cry of my body for completeness,

That is a cry to you.

My blood beats out your name to me,

unceasing, pitiless

Your name, your name.

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Sugar high at the moment, but also in a deep, and meaningful mood, I feel a need to express my thoughts in a way that is as thoughtful as I could find myself to be before I lose it.


*******BIG HUGE AND MEANINGFUL SIGH!!!!!*******

Though the poem at the top is the one I have chosen in particular for valentines day, I have also chosen another beautiful poem that I find dipicts a large shadow-covered side of my heart and my life. So please enjoy the many aspects of it.

"The Writer"
by Richard Wilbur

In her room at the prow of the house

Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,

My daughter is writing a story.

I pause in the stairwell, hearing

From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys

Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.

Young as she is, the stuff

Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:

I wish her a lucky passage.

But now it is she who pauses,

As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.

A stillness greatens, in which

The whole house seems to be thinking,

And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor

Of strokes, and again is silent.

I remember the dazed starling

Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;

How we stole in, lifted a sash

And retreated, not to affright it;

And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,

We watched the sleek, wild, dark

And iridescent creature

Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove

To the hard floor, or the desk-top,

And wait then, humped and bloody,

For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits

Rose when, suddenly sure,

It lifted off from a chair-back,

Beating a smooth course for the right window

And clearing the sill of the world.

It is always a matter, my darling,

Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish

What I wished you before, but harder.

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I doubt many have an interest in these sort of things as I do and I've come to realize this over the many years of going to school with shallow and narrow minded people that have absolutely no imagination whatsoever. The isolation of my mind, books, and songs have been the only things that appealled me to enter during times of hardships and sadness.

I miss the day when I didn't care or worry about anything. Back in the good days (I can still remember what it felt like), I recall the sound of nice music, a golden and sunny morning, and the happiness and relaxed aura that the atmosphere emanated. I could've done whatever I wanted. Whether it be reading, writing, drawing, singing, playing the piano, or going outside and running, biking, or flying a kite. Maybe I will yet. One day I'm going to get myself that dream. I want a place of my own.

However, I think I'll about that another time.