Thursday, November 19, 2015

Green land

How much would it be better if they knew
Their lines? If such emotion can be drawn
From minds that unremember what has gone
Before, then how much might they come to do
If all could be remembered through and through?
It would be like the rising of the dawn
Upon an arctic land, a frozen lawn
Awaiting melting. Oh, if it were true!
For then the show, like Anchorage in spring
Should see itself and pleasure in the sight;
Letting the months of summer warmly cling
Knowing the winter and the endless night
Are coming, but enjoying for the time
The pleasantest environ of the clime.

Sunday, November 8, 2015

Parallel

The games you play
Upon your phone
Won't go away;
We're not alone.
But even so
I do not care
As long as you 
And I are there.
I play as well
We watch TV
And I can tell
That you love me
Because we're us
And happy thus.

By a sleep to say

I cannot help but think that day's not done
That ends with us apart. It cannot be.
What would be the point of it? You see,
It can't have ended, or even begun,
If it is so. I am not in denial,
Or totally incapable of sense;
Nor am I in the state of innocence,
But rather well prepared to make a trial.
I prove it cannot be by logic, thus:
I would not voluntarily submit
To such a state, and, if forced into it,
I'd work myself into a royal fuss
And could not sleep. Therefore the day would still
Be paralyzed for me by my own will.