CadetArain046 Poetry (9)

Best Friends Are Forever
I sit alone thinking of you
and all the things we've both been through
You are my soul mate, my very best friend
and I know you'll be there until the end

Your shoulder to cry on will always be very long
who will be there when something is wrong
when times are tough you're always there
It shows me just how much you care

Although were going separate ways
you're in my heart till my final days
nothing can make a person see
how special a friend you are to me

I dreamed of a friend just like you
and finally my dream came true
noting else could ever fulfill
everything you're friendship will

You understand a side of me
that no one else could ever see
you know whats wrong before I cry
but if I do, you will always know why

A friend like you is hard to find
you put my problems all behind
you were there when no one cared
the best times were the ones we shared

We've been together through good and bad
you made me laugh when I was sad
and no one else could ever be
as good of a friend you are to me

Our time together is wilting away
more and more everyday
but now until the very end
you'll forever be my Best friend.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Among the cluttered archives of my pondering
Lie the memories of a girl who I used to be,
My eyes alight,
Radiant as the sun,
But my figure grows dim,
With every breath that's drawn.

The inquiring mind's question lie eternally quiet
My heart's inner strength quietly accrued,
The insistent cruelty claims my will as it's prize,
embedding it's hatred into my deepest confines,
Riddled with conflict, despair, and my recent host.

My identity peals
my former self is now like a ghost.
As I cling to the memories
of what once innocence I had
a searing pain streams through me
as I mourn.

This girl is pure as rain
It is now all gone
I resolved, self-assurance
Will, and life all won.

Won by a cruelty too often given on the timid
Teased and criticized, abused by critique
Judgment weighs on my slight frame
The weight of the world... I am to blame
She loves on in spite of her imminent demise
Rendered by those I loved so deeply.
With once my bright eyes

The eyes reflect on this tattered soul
The eyes that grow dim as she will never be whole
Damaged and beaten by life itself
The irony is uncanny
The toll it has taken is so real
This shell keeps going
A outsider she is now
The opposite of a corpse
She is now the living dead
Why her heart continues beating
or blood flows through her veins
Why she draws in breath
Or why she even has a name...
Is a questioning plea
for someone to reclaim.
The girl I used to be

Love. Is that what I crave?
If it is, then why can't I find it?
Hate. Does that mean anger?
If it does, then why do I feel hollow?
Pain. Does that mean suffering?
If it does, then why does it feel comforting?
Memories. Are they not images of the past?
If they are, why is there only shadows?
Smiles. Does that mean happiness?
If it does, then why does it hurt?
Life. What does it mean?
Should it mean any of these things?
If it doesn't, then why are they there?

I want to run, I want to hide.
From all the pain he caused inside.
I want to scream, I want to cry.
Why can't I tell him Goodbye?

I want to move on, I just can't let go.
I love him more than he will ever know.
I want to start over, I want to feel free!
But this pain will never leave me be.

He hurt me bad, the pain is deep.
From all the promises he couldn't keep.
All the lies, I heard him say.
Are in my head and just won't fade.

How can I forget him, leave the him behind.
Erase the memories from my mind.
He doesn't love me, and he never will.
He will never care, how I feel.

Now that I have your face by heart, I look
Less at its features than its darkening frame
Where quince and melon, yellow as young flame,
Lie with quilled dahlias and the shepherd's crook.
Beyond, a garden. There, in insolent ease
The lead and marble figures watch the show
Of yet another summer loath to go
Although the scythes hang in the apple trees.

Now that I have your face by heart, I look.

Now that I have your voice by heart, I read
In the black chords upon a dulling page
Music that is not meant for music's cage,
Whose emblems mix with words that shake and bleed.
The staves are shuttled over with a stark
Unprinted silence. In a double dream
I must spell out the storm, the running stream.
The beat's too swift. The notes shift in the dark.

Now that I have your voice by heart, I read.

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see
The wharves with their great ships and architraves;
The rigging and the cargo and the slaves
On a strange beach under a broken sky.
O not departure, but a voyage done!
The bales stand on the stone; the anchor weeps
Its red rust downward, and the long vine creeps
Beside the salt herb, in the lengthening sun.

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see.

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine and fifty swans.

The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold,
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.