I dream, I dreamt.

I dream of you,
Of your brown eyes,
Of your ocean hair,
Of your sunshine smile,
Of your angelic ware.

Then a day that drew the star above,
This love,
So high above,
Was forced to push and shove,
To your doors that lay unmoved.

And, as I offered my heart and blood for you to feast,
And walk with thee through woods, the beast
Ignored and ate my heart, then left me a wreck,
With no love, or roses, or fragrant posies.

Like a crawling pale, if death had seen,
Would pity devour him, limped and limped been,
And offered my empty heart and blood to thee,
In hope in hand for I to win.

But you threw my heart,
And spilled my blood,
Then took a match that fell and sparked
On blood that harked:
“To love thee, thine lips marked!”

and burned,
myself burned,
and my ashes thrown out of your doors unturned.

I dreamt of you,
Of your brown eyes,
Of your ocean hair,
Of your sunshine smile,
Of your angelic ware.
But with no heart or blood, to love
To dream.
What is to dream?
Or is to dream, is it it is my moonlight’s feel?


I’m sorry that I’m not handsome,
Nor that I am not who you are.
Kill me please,
Just kill me.
Please.

Notice that there is no date in which this poem was written. There is no date since I will NEVER forget the day I wrote this. The day I wrote this was the day I received my third rejection. Rejection by Claire. December 14, 2005