To love or not to love?
That is the question.
Or so ‘twould seem to the untrained eye
that sees the kaleidoscopic earth
in muted greys and defeathered blues.
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day-
No thou shalt not
For if I held in me the evasive scintillations that constitute a summer
now would be the winter of our discontent.
Many times have I yearned to lie ‘mongst the grass
drinking the sunlight
and eating the earth
and blossoming all the same
For disregarding is such sweet sorrow,
A prophecy once told me
Something vivid this way comes
and still no colors compared to those which I created myself.
This above all-
to thy lone self be true
The selfsame words that contaminate your credence
are those that cut off the heads of stars from their celestial bodies.
I seek the comfort of those with no such tongues.
Th’ bitterness of a plant lies in the root
And its heart is not so fragile.
There’s rue for you, and for me too,
and devil’s due, the final screw in the machinations of my existence.
The quest is silence.