First Verse

(Ahem...!) The way you look at me, my dearest friend, Has crossed the bounds of devotion's end. The light in your eyes, the way they shine, Has made your feelings known as mine. The way you blush when our eyes collide, And lower your gaze with nowhere to hide. It seems your heart has something to confess, Yet hides behind a veil of shyness. A thousand excuses to be by my side, To meet me again, though you try to hide. Your little pretences are no mystery, Yet every excuse tells a different story. Wherever I go, wherever I stay, You find your way, you come my way. When I'm not around, you search for me, Though you hide it all so carefully. I've heard that my thoughts keep you awake, That every night, your peace they take. And what of me? Even my name alone, Has found a home where your heart has grown. How long will you keep this secret concealed? When every unspoken feeling is revealed. The truth you once guarded so mysteriously, Is now known to the world for all to see.

(Prologue to "The Two Poets of Croisic.") Such a starved bank of moss Till, that May-morn, Blue ran the flash across: Violets were born! Sky--what a scowl of cloud Till, near and far, Ray on ray split the shroud: Splendid, a star! World--how it walled about Life with disgrace, 10 Till God's own smile came out: That was thy face! * * * * *

We used to be three Never leaving our tree Then one day she came along Now I'm made to stay alone I thought we were cool I thought we were friends But now I've got loads of enemies Some of them used to be my friends Now I'm a total stranger Someone they want to strangle What can I do to be loved Cos I really want to resolve I thought I was the princess Only to find out I'm the excess I hate to go over this again 😥😥 But I really lost the game 🎯

In the twenty-three years I have lived, I have seen what pain can do to a man. I have seen what jealousy can destroy, what betrayal can steal, and what silence can say when words are no longer enough. I have watched people promise forever with the same mouths they would later use to say goodbye. I have seen hands that once held each other tenderly become strangers, and hearts that once beat in unison learn to survive at different rhythms. I have seen love. Or perhaps, I have only seen what people are willing to call love. Because the older I grow, the less certain I become that I understand this thing at all. And today, I want to talk about it. Not the love they put in songs, nor the kind they sell in movies, where two people find each other, overcome a few obstacles, and live happily ever after. I want to talk about the love that stays long after happiness has left. The love that sits beside you in silence while your mind begs you to walk away. The love that knows every reason to leave yet searches desperately for one reason to stay. I want to talk about the love that makes a fool of an intelligent man, that turns certainty into questions, strength into vulnerability, and pride into a prayer whispered to a God who may already know the answer. Because somewhere along the way, we have made love too beautiful to be understood. We have dressed it in flowers, perfumed it with promises, and convinced ourselves that if it hurts, it must be meaningful; if it lasts, it must be true; and if we cannot let go, then perhaps we were never meant to. But I have begun to wonder whether our hearts are wiser than we think or simply better at lying to us. They say love is a feeling. But feelings change. The sun rises and sets. Seasons abandon the trees they once adorned. The same sky that welcomes the morning eventually swallows the light. And if love were merely a feeling, what would remain when the feeling disappeared? Perhaps love is a decision. Perhaps it is sacrifice. Perhaps it is the quiet determination to choose another person even on the days when choosing them costs you something. But even that explanation feels incomplete. Because how do you explain the person who has hurt you repeatedly, yet whose happiness still matters to you? How do you explain the anger that rises in your chest when you remember what they did, followed by the unbearable tenderness

Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong,
And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song;
Nor can remembrance, Mathew! bring to view
A fate more pleasing, a delight more true
Than that in which the brother Poets joy'd,
Who with combined powers, their wit employ'd
To raise a trophy to the drama's muses.
The thought of this great partnership diffuses
Over the genius loving heart, a feeling
Of all that's high, and great, and good, and healing.

Too partial friend! fain would I follow thee
Past each horizon of fine poesy;
Fain would I echo back each pleasant note
As o'er Sicilian seas, clear anthems float
'Mong the light skimming gondolas far parted,
Just when the sun his farewell beam has darted:
But 'tis impossible; far different cares
Beckon me sternly from soft "Lydian airs,"
And hold my faculties so long in thrall,
That I am oft in doubt whether at all
I shall again see Phoebus in the morning:
Or flush'd Aurora in the roseate dawning!
Or a white Naiad in a rippling stream;
Or a rapt seraph in a moonlight beam;
Or again witness what with thee I've seen,
The dew by fairy feet swept from the green,
After a night of some quaint jubilee
Which every elf and fay had come to see:
When bright processions took their airy march
Beneath the curved moon's triumphal arch.

But might I now each passing moment give
To the coy muse, with me she would not live
In this dark city, nor would condescend
'Mid contradictions her delights to lend.
Should e'er the fine-eyed maid to me be kind,
Ah! surely it must be whene'er I find
Some flowery spot, sequester'd, wild, romantic,
That often must have seen a poet frantic;
Where oaks, that erst the Druid knew, are growing,
And flowers, the glory of one day, are blowing;
Where the dark-leav'd laburnum's drooping clusters
Reflect athwart the stream their yellow lustres,
And intertwined the cassia's arms unite,
With its own drooping buds, but very white.
Where on one side are covert branches hung,
'Mong which the nightingales have always sung
In leafy quiet; where to pry, aloof,
Atween the pillars of the sylvan roof,
Would be to find where violet beds were nestling,
And where the bee with cowslip bells was wrestling.
There must be too a ruin dark, and gloomy,
To say "joy not too much in all that's bloomy."

Yet this is vain--O Mathew lend thy aid
To find a place where I may greet the maid--
Where we may soft humanity put on,
And sit, and rhyme and think on Chatterton;
And that warm-hearted Shakspeare sent to meet him
Four laurell'd spirits, heaven-ward to intreat him.
With reverence would we speak of all the sages
Who have left streaks of light athwart their ages:
And thou shouldst moralize on Milton's blindness,
And mourn the fearful dearth of human kindness
To those who strove with the bright golden wing
Of genius, to flap away each sting
Thrown by the pitiless world. We next could tell
Of those who in the cause of freedom fell:
Of our own Alfred, of Helvetian Tell;
Of him whose name to ev'ry heart's a solace,
High-minded and unbending William Wallace.
While to the rugged north our musing turns
We well might drop a tear for him, and Burns.

Felton! without incitements such as these,
How vain for me the niggard Muse to tease:
For thee, she will thy every dwelling grace,
And make "a sun-shine in a shady place:"
For thou wast once a flowret blooming wild,
Close to the source, bright, pure, and undefil'd,
Whence gush the streams of song: in happy hour
Came chaste Diana from her shady bower,
Just as the sun was from the east uprising;
And, as for him some gift she was devising,
Beheld thee, pluck'd thee, cast thee in the stream
To meet her glorious brother's greeting beam.
I marvel much that thou hast never told
How, from a flower, into a fish of gold
Apollo chang'd thee; how thou next didst seem
A black-eyed swan upon the widening stream;
And when thou first didst in that mirror trace
The placid features of a human face:
That thou hast never told thy travels strange.
And all the wonders of the mazy range
O'er pebbly crystal, and o'er golden sands;
Kissing thy daily food from Naiad's pearly hands.

November, 1815.

In search of love, or what? Can we expect that love exists too? Deep down, I’m afraid of everything lately, Because the love that forms in a family, and from a family, I never got the chance to experience, Whereas the love from the ones I loved always left me Confused, or stranded midway. Can we expect that I exist too? Throughout the journey of life, I have been lagging behind, As there were no friends, no brothers, no sisters, No best friends, and nothing else. Can we expect that God exists too? Because since the day I was born, I have felt Left behind as an option, as a choice, Where I met people, but not for long, Where I got opportunities, but only as a choice, Where I am with the person I adore deeply, and yet That person is not forever. Can we expect that human life is beautiful too? Because as far as I know, life is about suffering Rather than being memorable and enjoyable, Because as far as I know, life is about expecting Rather than making things happen in reality. Why is the world cruel to me? Why is the planet so mean to me? Why does the earth not feel like home to me? Am I being left alone? Am I really optional? I don’t want to encounter anyone in life again. I don’t want to form an attachment with anyone again. I don’t want to make memories again. I don’t want to walk through life again the way I did before.

I’m trapped, but please don’t free me, I beg you to release the chains, But’ll hate you if you let them drop, It’s a prison of my own making, One that I don’t want to leave The moment I feel pain, I wash it away, Sorrow and concern fade into the day, Not a moment to myself, I pull bottled distraction off of the shelf I hate how I feel, avoiding what’s real, Running and ignoring is the only way to deal, Blue light rots my eyes, Dastardly bright, forming what I despise, Liquid lies, formed inside, Breaking ties, killing pride, Friends of mine, lost in stride, If only there were to be a way out, An off button to shut it all down, I know there is, my mind shouts, But I’d do anything not to have the shame around You see, it’s not a prison, there are no guards, There are no chains or records marred, It’s the life I built, Brick by brick, It’s the parts I’ve killed, Hit by hit, There is no freedom from the sun, Beams, so fast that you can’t run, It will always chase you down, Ruthless rays, you will be found, Whatever you lift the highest, Will always shine the brightest, Whether darkness or light, It’ll shine across your life It becomes not a prison, but your world, The pitch of your idols unfurled, Worshipping your captor, Wishing and waiting for final rapture

First Verse

Featured Poets

Share this page

Get the First Verse app

Explore

Company

Get started

Sign in to First Verse

Check your email