dramadramaduck | A little poem I found ...

What an...interesting poem, amigo!

As a wooer of women, I always make sure I have a love poem handy~ A-hem!

A Special World

A special world for you and me
A special bond one cannot see
It wraps us up in its cocoon
And holds us fiercely in its womb.

Its fingers spread like fine spun gold
Gently nestling us to the fold
Like silken thread it holds us fast
Bonds like this are meant to last.

And though at times a thread may break
A new one forms in its wake
To bind us closer and keep us strong
In a special world, where we belong.

- Sheelagh Lennon

Oh, I love poetry~! And that was a truly gorgeous poem.... ah.... Prince Mytho, your username says? Ah, what a diversity of people one finds here; I hope you'll forgive my informality, my lord.

Since accessing this thing called Internet, I've become acquainted with the poems of Walt Whitman. It's long, but if you care for poetry, a lot of my mmost treasured philosophies are contained within this poem: A Song of the Rolling Earth (http://classiclit.about.com/library/bl-etexts/wwhitman/bl-ww-rollingearth.htm).

"First Fig"

My candle burns at both ends, it will not last the night.
But oh my foes and ah my friends, it gives a lovely light.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Once upon a midnight dreary
As I wandered weak and weary
Through a room so very dreary
I heard a knocking at my door.

My eyes had grown so very teary
Thinking of my long-dead dearie
And so the bird did sound quite jeery
Making jest of poor Lenore~.

I could go on, if you like~?

The Raven by Mr. Poe, what a lovely poem.

I'm quite fond of this poem myself

"Clouds flowing over a hill.
Sky on a sunny day.
Tangerines that are bitter.
Lucky four-leaf-clover.
Violets in the garden.
Dandelions along a path.
Unavoidable sleeping time.
Liquid flowing from a slashed wrist."

Poetry has always been one of my most sacred dawnings of emotion.

Flowing feely, your ebony hair. Like the night sky,
seatting fragrance,
my heart, clamoring in my chest.
Like a storm you trifle with it, your pristine glance.
Like a feast, when you smile my thoughts, disturbed,
my breath like opium, it drives me mad.......

*coughs* Uhh sorry...

((How could I resist?))

"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

"This Is Just To Say"
by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Ah, a poem of love, I see? Woven of the the most fragile threads, it binds two hearts across time and space, surmounting even Death itself.

Yes, I think so, anyway. You may call me Mytho, if you like. I am simply a Prince in a story.

I do believe I like this part the best:

Human bodies are words, myriads of words,
(In the best poems re-appears the body, man's or woman's,
well-shaped, natural, gay,
Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame.)

To me, that describes the essence of ballet. To convey ones feelings through dance ...

Indeed, a candle burns most brightly just before it is snuffed out ...

Wow, that nearly sounded like a poem itself! You're a real master of words, amigo~

I am intrigued, to say the least. A variation on the poem I chose to share? Will you share the rest?

Oh yes. I was quite taken with it as soon as I read it.

Hmm, yes, beauty may be immortalized only through death. Beauty is as transient as flowers before they are cut away by winter's cruel claws.

Yes. I am not much of a poet myself, but I enjoy reading it, nonetheless. I choose to express myself through dance.

Hmm ... the poet seems to be enamored with a dark beauty. But she will not return his affections. How sad ...

Ah, what a light-hearted little piece. Playful and carefree as the poet's voice.

You are quite kind. I much prefer the wordless art of ballet, where ones body must convey the unnamed emotions that burst forth from the well-spring of the heart. To express what cannot be said in words ... that is the true meaning of ballet.

Ballet, eh? I've never seen much myself, but I think all forms of dancing are beautiful! Emotions through through the body...what a perfect way of putting it.

((OMG that's too perfect! XD))

Hmm, are you referring to the White Swan, my dear Fakir?

Hurry, hurry, little knight, before the day gives up its light,
For your Prince is now descending toward the night's Plutonian shore.
Soon the White will fade to Black, the heart bathed in darkness begins to crack,
For the Prince is locked within a gilded cage, lying broken on the floor.
The voice which cries out in pain and rage, hands beating against the gilded door
Shall be lifted -- Nevermore!

Mytho, then. It's a pleasure. ^_^

--In a story? As in, you have an existence both fictional and real?

And you're a dancer? I confess I couldn't dance to save my life, but I do have a great appreciation for any self-expressive art. In Harmonia, where I'm from, chanting and singing is seen as a way to connect to the vibrations and energies both of existence and of the self, to feel completely in tune with and at one with all the world around you, and at the same time with your own being, feeling every aspect of your body move and flow and resonate as it was truly intended-- for the latter is one possible key to the former. Does it feel similar for you, to dance?

I found this one... a bit sad, but beautiful.

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Likewise.

I am a character in a story, but when the author who penned "The Prince and the Raven" died, both the Raven and I escaped from the story. I seek to return to it, so that I may attain my happy ending.

Yes. Dancing puts me at ease. It is the only time when my heart is free of pain. I am able to express all the unnamed feelings welling up inside me.

"All that glitters be not gold, but all that's gold does surely glitter."

((En't it? XD ))

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading – treading – till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through –

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum –
Kept beating – beating – till I thought
My Mind was going numb –

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space – began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here –

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down –
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing – then –

-Emily Dickinson

((nice~))

Mr. Poe was quite indeed a wonderful poet, if not a bit mad.

Or indeed sometimes the beauty of life is so horridly burned to ugliness and only death may free the scarred and lonely.

Do you have a name sir?

A little poem I found ...

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What would air, soil, water, fire, know of my name...?

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