Friday, 20 February 2015

In my mind I am in this place,
Sitting with the Shakespearean Juliet.
“Juliet,” I say, “Of this feeling tell me, 
Why doesn’t it go away,
From my heart that loved so
Does it have to linger this much?   
Doesn’t Cupid see the pain he causes?
Doesn’t Amor see the pain I fight?”
Beside that tears that I shed
Never were persons in the world so mean 
To feast on the forbidden fruit and cut the tree.

And Juliet speaks unto me, 
Weeping, her shining eyes she turns away; 
Whereby she makes my heart tauter in my chest;
And the truth I realize, as she cries silently; 
I am away from the fountain of tears, 
Which waters the beautiful mountains of my bust.
What is it, then?  Why, why do I still hope?   
Why is such faith bedded in my heart? 

Even as I wake, afraid of the morning chill, 
Grass dewy and glassy, when the sun glimmers, 
I crawl out to see the sun rise;
I stand with my exhausted strength, 
And such good courage to my heart there courses, 
That I begin, like an intrepid person

A new day, a new me, to salvage me from myself.

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