e.e. cummings, "somewhere i have travelled, gladly beyond"

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

I think I am the most sleepiest girl in the world. I am drained.

Think.

Proceed.

Think. Turn left.

Think. Stop. Stop thinking.

Try to sleep.

Think. Think. Think.

It's the sinking in, this thinking of.

The thinking in that's stopping us.

Think.

Proceed.

Wait. Don't.

Wait. Stop. Stop waiting.

Try to let go.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

The waiting for, this fated now.

The fated waiting

that

is

us.

todavía no se ha hecho pública toda la historia

(the full story has yet to be told)

I wish I could scrapbook my mind

share all the time-moments and lapse-memories

Revealing all instance of treasured love's beginning:

I would thus artifact

(for you) my existence.

As, merely, I am the sum of subsequent parts

a conglomerate of feeling, choice and pieces of heart.

I wish I could choose you.

I wish I could choose,

and also with you.

Amen my brother, you agree?

Peace be in the antiquated moments of fleeting

vulnerabilities.

Peace be in the shade of a forest you sang for me.

Peace be in the broken-sun streaming across your cheek.

Peace be in the love made quietly in a room shared on a street I drive past just to remember.

Amen my brother.

I wish I could choose you.

I wish I could keep all I have made and carry with them along, as I have carried

And you

carried on for so long.

I wish I could take up with some simultaneous rage

of mind and intellect and heart.

of ours and mine and make it new-now together.

Peace be in a stool in a shop near Haight.

Peace be in corner of 6th and Mesa in the town we met together.

Peace be in you seated on a rock-stage of our play to the ocean-audience of romance past.

Amen, my brother.

Under the guise of now,

I keep you,

like a favorite tune,

to remind me a time I used to like to sing.

A time, that given all appropriate conditions,

would return to,

Now you may be seated.

Amen my brother, you agree?

My Ashbury trinket

My San Pedro secret

My leitmotif and very life's theme

set to the composition

(Unaware,

Unintending, perhaps)

You scored me.

Days like to today

I think about what is and thank

Jesus himself for my having made

the choices I made.

And, it is on such a rare occasion

I employ the use of God and His Name.

The very fact that I am in such an

advantageous position

as this

to complain.

It really is quite the life,

when my biggest concerns

of the afternoon

lie focussed on

cooking plans, routine doctor visits,

and the unnecessary wardrobe additions

I plan to purchase.

Someone recently asked if I'd even ever given

this man the chance?

Well, today, I solute you

Mr. Restaurant worker, dock-hand man:

You provide for us in all the ways that

lead me to feeling as though

I have the freedom to complain.

In other words,

thank you.

Inauthenticity

Immense freedom

found in the what is

(where most reside)

Having stopped copy-catting

the past

projected from our history's transperency

where all I could see

were the long standing-line

of ifs before me

What is is just this

Truth-concentrate.

hmmm. but still.

I don't think you believe you.

Happy in the Shade?

If I could have rewritten the lyrics, these are what they would read:

I think that once,

the maple could have been happy in the shade,

Allowing the oak to simply soak up the light

While watching it grow out,

up and beyond her reach.

And, it's not that she ever screamed, "oppression,"

As simply stopped wanting to compete

There is most certainly trouble with the trees

Some force has shaken them at the roots

(at the very base of their inevitability)

Or, so the maple alongside

is urged by the oak to believe

The maple can't help the depth of feelings

they simply result from the way she was made

But she knows no happiness in such a sun-deprived forest

(wishes no world shared by an oak)

where nil but a slow-death-come from shade

The maple can't help the depth of feelings

they simply result from the way she was made

And it is surely no testament to the good in the oak

(antiquated forest-fantasy banished underground)

but more a nod to way the maple behaves

My negative, Exposed

Uncover me

Shed my skin of vulnerability

simply because you can

For no other reason

sufficiently describes

simply because it is

you who can

Unfold arms embracing

what the it is

they hold so gently

Impressed upon

the familiar image of yourself

staring back

Using your skeleton key

to which you unlock every door

behind the I in everything

naked standing

unfolded

exposed

me

Understand the whom

to who you seek

Measure

What is the weight of desire in gold?

Sentiment in silver?

The worth of a life traded

for a past mulled over?

Or two lives, or three, or five?

The whom to who you seek

choices measured not in pennies

but penance paid

to your personal history

(Come) Undone

Come exposed

Come seen

Come under the weight of necessity

or ascribe to the permanence of possibility

But, come

Undone

Come exposed

Come seen

Let the rarity of negative exposure

from the dark rooms of dark halls in dark living

Develop.

See yourself

As you are seen

By me.

Falling Slowly

I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can't react
And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You'll make it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along

Glen Hansard Lyrics, Falling Slowly.