until i met you

in a world of pain
all i saw was darkness
broken hearted
scared to trust
tears falling
afraid to love again
until i met you
you showed me a world full of greatness
you opened a world full of light
no longer broken hearted
no longer scared to trust
you wiped the tears away
you showed me what real love is like
when you are in my life
there is no longer pain

jenny~
august 29,2008

afraid

scared of getting hurt
frightened to allow anyone close
you make me feel less scared
you ease the terrors inside
you say all the right things
you calm a racing mind
with you i never know what i'll find
no pushing
no rushing
just take it easy
go with the flow
nice and gentle

jenny~
august 27,2008

how did you do it?

how did you do it?
bring me to life
light a flame that's never been lit
touch me in places i've never been touched
without really touching me at all
are you real?
or am i just dreaming?
are you the one i've been waiting on?


jenny~
august 27,2008

How Do I Love Thee

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 everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle- light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee 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.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

A Pretty Woman

That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers,
And the blue eyeDear and dewy,
And that infantine fresh air of hers!

To think men cannot take you, Sweet,
And enfold you,Ay, and hold you,
And so keep you what they make you, Sweet!

You like us for a glance, you know---
For a word's sakeOr a sword's sake,
All's the same,
whate'er the chance, you know.

And in turn we make you ours, we say---
You and youth too,
Eyes and mouth too,
All the face composed of flowers, we say.

All's our own, to make the most of, Sweet---
Sing and say for,
Watch and pray for,
Keep a secret or go boast of, Sweet!

But for loving, why, you would not,
Sweet,Though we prayed you,
Paid you, brayed youin a mortar---for you could not, Sweet!

So, we leave the sweet face fondly there:
Be its beautyIts sole duty!
Let all hope of grace beyond, lie there!

And while the face lies quiet there,
Who shall wonder
That I ponderA conclusion?
I will try it there.

As---why must one, for the love foregone,
Scout mere liking?
Thunder-striking
Earth---the heaven, we looked above for, gone!

Why, with beauty,
needs there money be,
Love with liking?
Crush the fly-king
In his gauze, because no honey-bee?

May not liking be so simple-sweet,
If love grew there
'Twould undo there
All that breaks the cheek to dimples sweet?

Is the creature too imperfect,
Would you mend it
And so end it?
Since not all addition perfects aye!

Or is it of its kind, perhaps,
Just perfection---
Whence, rejection
Of a grace not to its mind, perhaps?

Shall we burn up, tread that face at once
Into tinder,
And so hinder
Sparks from kindling all the place at once?

Or else kiss away one's soul on her?
Your love-fancies!---
A sick man sees
Truer, when his hot eyes roll on her!

Thus the craftsman thinks to grace the rose---
Plucks a mould-flower
For his gold flower,
Uses fine things that efface the rose:

Rosy rubies make its cup more rose,
Precious metals
Ape the petals,---
Last, some old king locks it up, morose!

Then how grace a rose? I know a way!
Leave it, rather.
Must you gather?
Smell, kiss, wear it---at last, throw away!

Robert Browning

254

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm—
I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886)

Sonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare