InsideTech

Post a favorite poem you have read. Please be sure to give proper reference, if you have it.

This is a sensitive one... but... I'll post an old poem i wrote to this girl i had a thing for back in high school. I think the poem's actually kinda good! Parts of it, at least... but... to every artist is their own art, etc and so on :) BTW - Sorry I've been MIA... Been busy!!! I'll have to catch up on the forums!!! 

The Depths of a Beautiful Pain

 The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen won’t give me the time of day. When I look into her eyes, it’s like a dream so somehow I'll find a way.

 I’ll be the man she always needed. I’ll never do her wrong. Show her the way that she should be treated. For her, my feelings are strong.

As I look into the depths of her eyes, I feel my courage begin to rise. I see her heart and begin to strive, and I show the feelings that I used to hide.

 The beginning of something great has ended all too soon. I want to look into her eyes once more & maybe her feelings will bloom.

 I feel my soul so deep inside, as it begins to quiver & cry. I never knew such pain could come from such beautiful eyes.

 And so I turn away feeling the uncomfortable strain. I drop my head & cry in shame as she un-veils her beautiful pain.

 I’ll always remember the beauty she held inside and I’ll remember the smile that was on my face as my soul turned & cried.

 The Depths of a Beautiful Pain is what made me so confused and a part of me said to give up... But, as you can see, I refused.

 Even though the pain gets worse with every striving step... The beauty is what gave me this curse... And I never will regret it.

 It’s worth every minute of what I feel and someday my pains will heal.

 But until that day happens to arise, just remember that I’m looking into the most beautiful pain in your eyes.

Oh, i got the girl... I later decided she wasnt really what I wanted though :)

My favorite poem of all time, probably because it strikes home in some ways.

Factories - Margaret Widdemer

I have shut my little sister in from life and light

(For a rose, for a ribbon, for a wreath across my hair),

I have made her restless feet still until the night,

Locked from sweets of summer and from wild spring air;

I who ranged the meadow lands, free from sun to sun,

Free to sing and pull the buds and watch the far wings fly,

I have bound my sister till her playing-time is done —

Oh, my little sister, was it I? — was it I?

I have robbed my sister of her day of maidenhood

(For a robe, for a feather, for a trinket's restless spark),

Shut from Love till dusk shall fall, how shall she know good,

How shall she pass scatheless through the sinlit dark?

I who could be innocent, I who could be gay,

I who could have love and mirth before the light went by,

I have put my sister in her mating-time away —

Sister, my young sister, — was it I? — was it I?

I have robbed my sister of the lips against her breast

(For a coin, for the weaving of my children's lace and lawn),

Feet that pace beside the loom, hands that cannot rest,

How can she know motherhood, whose strength is gone?

I who took no heed of her, starved and labor-worn,

I against whose placid heart my sleepy gold heads lie,

Round my path they cry to me, little souls unborn,

God of Life — Creator! It was I! It was I!