"Saving YouThe darkness takes him over, the sickness pulls him in; his eyes—a blown out candle, I wish to go with him.Sometimes I see a flicker— a light that shone from them; I hold him to me tightly, before he's gone again."
"You were you,and I was I;we were twobefore our time.I was yoursbefore I knew,and you have always been mine too."
"I don't think all writers are sad, she said.I think it's the other way around—all sad people write."
"She lends her pen,to thoughts of him,that flow from it,in her solitary.For she is his poet,And he is her poetry."
"I don't think all writers are sad, she said.I think it's the other way around—all sad people write."
"The WandererWhat is she like?I was told—she is amelancholy soul.She is likethe sun to the night;a momentary gold.A star when dimmedby dawning light;the flicker ofa candle blown.A lonely kitelost in flight—someone oncehad flown."