SECRET LOVERS.

Nahahahahaha.

So, after reading Shiver, which is by far my favorite book, I've decided I'm going to start reading poetry. I have a tendency to get obsessed with things, but never truly passionate about them. Actually, I have one passion in life, and that is writing.

[Shake It--Metro Station]

So I've decided to just make it all of literature. Because I'm cool like that.

Hah! You can't call me a nerd because I'm not a fact person! NAHAHAHAHA!

Imma go look up Rilke.

Oh, and I find it amusing that Rilke's middle name was Maria. I wonder why. Lol.

It would be good to give much thought, before
you try to find words for something so lost,

for those long childhood afternoons you knew
that vanished so completely -and why?


We're still reminded-: sometimes by a rain,
but we can no longer say what it means;
life was never again so filled with meeting,
with reunion and with passing on


as back then, when nothing happened to us
except what happens to things and creatures:
we lived their world as something human,
and became filled to the brim with figures.


And became as lonely as a sheperd
and as overburdened by vast distances,
and summoned and stirred as from far away,
and slowly, like a long new thread,
introduced into that picture-sequence
where now having to go on bewilders us.

Love it. Absolutely love it.
And now we have Shakespeare.
[Control--Metro Station]
OHMYGOD I FOUND IT. I FOUND THE SONNET. OHMYGOD.
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Let's see......let's try Edgar Allen Poe.
Once it smiled a silent dell

Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun-light lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless —
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye —
Over three lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave: — from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep: — from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.
 
I freaking love poetry. Ch'yea.