I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.
forgive me if i laugh
you are so sure of love
you are so young
and i too old to learn of love.
the rain exploding
in the air is love
the grass excreting her
green wax is love
and stones remembering
past steps is love,
but you. you are too young
and i too old.
There are worldly people, heavy and wingless. Their sphere
is down below. There are among them strong ones: Napoleon. They leave terrible traces among men, and cause an uproar, but it is all on the earth. There are those whose wings grow equably, and who slowly rise and fly: monks. There are light people, winged, who rise easily from among the crowd and again descend : good idealists. There are strong-winged ones who drawn by carnal desires, descend among the crowd and break their wings. Such am I. Then they struggle with broken wings flutter strongly and fall. If my wings heal, I will fly high.
I am yours as the summer air at evening is
Possessed by the scent of linden blossoms,
As the snowcap gleams with light
Lent it by the brimming moon.
Without you I’d be an unleafed tree
Blasted in a bleakness with no Spring.
Your love is the weather of my being.
What is an island without the sea?