Preface
straight from the tortured poets department version 1.0 (rojie’s version)
straight from the tortured poets department version 2.0 (rojie’s version)
love poem
Currently listening to: So Long, London – Taylor Swift
For so long, LondonHad a good runA moment of warm sunBut I’m not the oneSo long, LondonStitches undoneTwo graves, one gunYou’ll find someone …
I was clearing out my Google drive and came across old files that I shared with my exes. Oh the nostalgia…
This was a poem that Beau Mec (even though he’s British, I gave him a French name. Oh the irony!) wrote for me on my birthday while we were together. Le sigh.
On the Occasion of Her Birthday
“Turn not thy face from distance, nor the dark,
For even on such hateful nights as these,
When each of us our separate vigils keep,
And wear the scales of sorrow on our eyes,
That cloud and lead us down the path of clouds
In hours when sight most fails; you heal me then
As though you were a candle carried close,
Whose ghostly flame burnt unadorned with wind,
And pierced with fire no hoary shade as do
The gold and silver lances of the sun,
Nor warmed the flesh, but only moved the mind
To think a thought too like to thought for words,
And gaze out gently on the gloaming wood,
The living stars whose light bespeaks a dance.”
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