The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling.
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

-W.Shakespeare

Tuesday 19 February 2013

Thorn of the Rose


I made myself
Fall in love with you.
Without ever seeing 
If the feeling was true.
I made some change
With this broken heart buck,
I’ve gone and pressed
Too hard on my luck. 
I see new colors
With these rosy glass eyes.
Making new shades of
Those passions I despise.
She’s the thorn of the rose
In my clenched fist,
Its pain and beauty close
My eyes and I missed. 

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