Down with hell and heaven and all the religious fussinfinity pleased our parents one inch looks good to us
E.E. Cummings
I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)I am never without it (anywhereI go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is youhere is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which growshigher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apartI carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
poetry fate life mind soul true world fear heart beautiful sky sweet secret stars moon sun sing tree hope
To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best day and night to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight and never stop fighting.
poetry human world night battle day fight stop fighting
Unbeing dead isn't being alive.
poetry life death dead alive
Lovers alone wear sunlight.
poetry adoration
I like my body when it is with yourbody. It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more.i like your body. I like what it does,i like its hows. I like to feel the spineof your body and its bones, and the trembling-firm-smooth ness and which i willagain and again and againkiss, i like kissing this and that of you,i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzzof your electric fur, and what-is-it comesover parting flesh.. And eyes big love-crumbs, and possibly i like the thrillof under me you so quite new.
poetry
I carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
Twice I have lived forever in a smile
poetry smiling
I do not know what it is about you that closesand opens; only something in me understandsthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses
poetry philosophy religion
Such was a poet and shall be and is-who'll solve the depths of horror to defend a sunbeam's architecture with his life: and carve immortal jungles of despair to hold a mountain's heartbeat in his hand.
If everything happens that can't be done(and anything's righterthan bookscould plan)the stupidest teacher will almost guess(with a runskiparound we go yes)there's nothing as something as oneone hasn't a why or because or although(and buds know betterthan booksdon't grow)one's anything old being everything new(with a whatwhicharound we come who)one's everyanything soso world is a leaf so tree is a bough(and birds sing sweeterthan bookstell how)so here is away and so your is a my(with a downuparound again fly)forever was never till nownow i love you and you love me(and books are shutterthan bookscan be)and deep in the high that does nothing but fall(with a shouteacharound we go all)there's somebody calling who's wewe're anything brighter than even the sun(we're everything greaterthan booksmight mean)we're everanything more than believe(with a spinleapalive we're alive)we're wonderful one times one
Hate blows a bubble of despair intohugeness world system universe and bang-fear buries a tomorrow under woeand up comes yesterday most green and young
Sweet spring is yourtime is my time is ourtime for springtime is lovetimeand viva sweet love(all the merry little birds areflying in the floating in thevery spirits singing inare winging in the blossoming)lovers go and lovers comeawandering awonderingbut any two are perfectlyalone there's nobody else alive(such a sky and such a suni never knew and neither did youand everybody never breathedquite so many kinds of yes)not a tree can count his leaveseach herself by openingbut shining who by thousands meanonly one amazing thing(secretly adoring shylytiny winging darting floatingmerry in the blossomingalways joyful selves are singing)sweet spring is yourtime is my time is ourtime for springtime is lovetimeand viva sweet love
poetry spring
Life's not a paragraphAnd death i think is no parenthesis
May came home with a smooth round stoneas small as a world and as large as alone.
poetry travel loneliness
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