by Emily Brontë

Wind, I hear it sighing, The
Autumn’s saddest sound;
Withered leaves as thick are lying
As spring-flowers on the ground

This dark night has won me
To wander far away;
Old feelings gather fast upon me
Like vultures round their prey.

Kind were they once, and cherished,
But cold and cheerless now;
I would their lingering shades had perished
When their light left my brow.

‘Tis like old age pretending
The softness of a child,
My altered, hardened spirit bending
To meet their fancies wild.

Yet could I with past pleasures
Past woe’s oblivion buy,
That by the death of my dearest treasures
My deadliest pains might die,

anonymous :

Family o’ mine: I should like to send you a sunbeam, or the twinkle of some bright star,
or a tiny piece of the downy fleece that clings to a cloud afar.

I should like to send you the essence of a myriad sun-kissed flowers,
or the lilting song as it floats along, of a brook through fairy bowers.

I should like to send you the dew-drops that glisten at break of day,
and then at night the eerie light that mantles the Milky Way.

I should like to send you the power that nothing can overthrow –
the power to smile and laugh the while a-journeying through life you go.

But these are mere fanciful wishes; I’ll send you a Godspeed instead,
and I’ll clasp your hand – then you’ll understand all the things I have left unsaid.

Apr 2016

To the Airs

My Beloved Air:

Lovely,
delicate,
fingertips
saturated with ink.
It seeps from your lips
from your pores,
painting stories
on your paper thin skin.
Such beautiful ideas in your head but,
you hold your words
in the hands of a child;
benevolent, yet careless.
Remember that
a strangers heart
is their book, not yours.
Ink stains rarely
wash out.

#love #astrology #deep #passionate #aquarius #libra #gemini #psychoanalyst #starsign

Written by

Keeana Calmes  Guelph, ONFollow

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