=Not So Merry <blockquote>"Oh, I am grown so free from care     Since my heart broke. I set my throat against the air,     I laugh at simple folk!"</blockquote> Vincent wrote of a Merry Maid     Who spoke those very lines. At times I almost think I'd trade The love which his sweet heart has bade So anxious fears might fully fade —     Fly from a field of mines. (But if I did what I just said,     If I this love declined, His vision would still haunt my head, I'd have no cause to rise from bed, From every hope would I be lead —     I am with him entwined.) =The Voices The more I feel, the more I fear     that I shall end up hurt. The more I love, the more I hear     voices cruel and curt. The more I feel, the more they jeer     that I'll be left in pain. The more I fear, the more they leer,     calling me Inane. =Super(fluous) Man <h4>i.</h4> The sky shines light; it looms so true, a happy, pointless shade of blue. Squirrels cluster food and hoard their fill, while birds sing clearly of their will. Trees shed their leaves which grow again; grass would grow tall if not for Men. And none care for the year or day or millennium or holiday. <h4>ii.</h4> Demanding species! Men seized hold of Nature's bosom, turned it cold; her flawless beauty he has marred, her emerald gowns razed and tarred, and savagely her brood he'll kill. And this, he'll say, is his God's will! I think the world would be just fine, without this ruinous race of mine. =Rose <h4>i.</h4> Oh, rose I left neglected, dried bud of brittle black, standing disaffected in glass vase upon the rack, I'd left you unattended and never let you bloom — never were you splendid, time-scorched rose of withered gloom. <h4>ii.</h4> For thee, I cared so little. Now dead, thou art but brittle. <h4>iii.</h4> They call you baby's breath, clouds of airy white;</br > now hov'ring, wreathed in death, no more are you bright. =Preferences What use have I with forevermore if yesterday I'd been a star: a vibrant, gleaming wondrous light admired from afar. Who cares to be the drudge, the wife, if a mistress would claim the love. If long lost loves long keep men's hearts, I'd go unbound to the floor above. An unclouded sun is one that bores, while quick lightning can leave its mark; may I, too, be so bright yet brief, glimpsed as brilliance in the dark.