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That these hands would not
so truly ache to ease your pain, I almost think
I'd axe them off. That my fingers
would not stretch to soothe or long to fly
to do you good, I really nearly
want to break their bones. That
my insides would not come to life, clench,
twist, die, and revive in opposition
to my bidding at the nearness
of your arrogant grin, I could ingest
arsenic, had I any at hand, and be rid
of them. That I would not
care, that I did not crack, that I had
no heart to hurt at your absence, I wish...
...but then, I don't...that I had never let you in
through my front door on that first day.

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Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

morgainecnyll’s Poems (45)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Doormat 0
Sonnet X 0
Options 0
The Perfect Metaphor 0
Bystander outside Arby's 0
The One 0
2:00 A.M. and unable to sleep 1
For Alex 0
If love was meant... 3
Consummation 3
Why I am Silent 0
Wanderjahr 0
Elysium Fields for You (In loving memory of James Patrick Garis, i.e. Uncle Jim) 0
Nebulaic 1
hush 0
Clarification
s, Pt. 1: Love
1
The Fall 0
Immobile; Narcissus, dying. 0
Phasing 0
liminal 0
Why I am Silent 0
Tsavorite (Sonnet VII) 0
Christmas for Franklin 0
John Brown was a Strange Father 0
This Purpose 0
Revelation 1
Prodigal Revisted 2
the climb 1
random 1
untitled 0
sonnet 8 2
untitled 2
Fairy Tail 0
thoughtless 0
Feb. 3, 2008 : The Beloved Son 0
Sonnet 6 0
April 22, 2007-- Sonnet V 0
Ophelia 3
July2006—Hi
nc illae lacrimae
0
June 27, 2006- The Hollow Cost 0
Amor Vincit Omnia (In Wilfred Owen Style) 2
April 26, 2006—Phenom
anon
0
April 7, 2006—Sonnet III 2
February 29/March 2 2004— the Stirring 1
Mechanical 1