Poe Inspired

Your soul shines bright

Distinctions

The next day, I am almost afraid. Love? It was more like dragonflies in the sun. 100 degrees at noon, the ends of their abdomens stick together, I close my eyes when I remember. I hardly knew myself, like something twisting and twisting out of a chrysalis, enormous, without language, all head, all shut eyes, and the humming like madness, the way they writhe away, and do not leave, back, back, away, back. Did I know you? No kiss, no tenderness--more like killing, death-grip holding to life, genitals like violent hands clasped tight barely moving, more like being closed in a great jaw and eaten, and the screaming I groan to remember it, and when we started to die, then I refuse to remember, the way a drunkard forgets. After, you held my hands extremely hard as my body moved in shudders like the ferry when its axle is loosed past engagement, you kept me sealed exactly against you, our hairlines wet as the arc of a gateway after a cloudburst, you secured me in your arms till I slept-- that was love, and we woke in the morning clasped, fragrant, buoyant, that was the morning after love.

Wilt thou go with me, sweet maid, Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me Through the valley-depths of shade, Of night and dark obscurity; Where the path has lost its way, Where the sun forgets the day, Where there's nor life nor light to see, Sweet maiden, wilt thou go with me! Where stones will turn to flooding streams, Where plains will rise like ocean waves, Where life will fade like visioned dreams And mountains darken into caves, Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me Through this sad non-identity, Where parents live and are forgot, And sisters live and know us not! Say, maiden; wilt thou go with me In this strange death of life to be, To live in death and be the same, Without this life or home or name, At once to be and not to be - That was and is not -yet to see Things pass like shadows, and the sky Above, below, around us lie?

Violent lives, ending violently... We never die in bed. Something in our personalities, perhaps? Some animal urge to fight and struggle, making us who we are?

The Darkness by Msullivan

Nu sculon heriģean heofonriċes weard Meotodes meahte and his modģeƥanc weorc Wuldor-Faeder swa he wundra ģehwæs eċe Drihten or onstealde He ærest sceop ielda bearnum heofon to hrofe haliģ Scyppend đa middanģeard moncynnes Weard eċe Drihten æfter teode firum foldan Frea ælmihtiģ

Oh I do believe In all the things you see What comes is better Than what came before And you better come come come come to me Better come come come come come to me Better run run run run run to me Better come Oh I do believe In all the things you see What comes is better Than what came before And you better run run run run to me Better run run run run run to me Better come come come come come to me Better run