Bluebird

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?


Charles Bukowski.

THE POEM OF BEING LONELY

They don't know,
Those who don't live alone,
How frightening is
Soundlessness;
How a person talks to himself,
How he runs to mirrors,
Hungry for a soul,
They don't know it.

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch
another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be, i say if this should be--
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands

anyone reading here? or its just me?
:-)

I have lost the path and stand at the foot of what seems to be an insurmountable slope. As the height of the thing and the length of my journey become clearer in my consciousness, there comes a distinct desperation, a sadness only arising from the choice between two implausibles. I've come so far... and only to be faced by an obstacle that is seemingly insurmountable. Must the terrifying grade be attempted? Better yet, can it be attempted? With what despondency would I turn back. Uncertain annihilation lies ahead and a certain more subtle obliteration behind.

The sun is setting and the rocks grow cold. If I remain here I am certain I will fade by the time the ice comes into being, in the twilight well before dawn. Yet the thought of staying fills me with such peace... such cessation of despair, that I consider it a little longer. Yes, this may be the best option. No desperate attempts, no brokenhearted retreats. Without even moving, I find I am quite comfortable, and that the stars will not quite admit utter darkness this night. In doing nothing I find there is nothing to fear, and I in a little while I will fall asleep.

you say "I will come"
and you dont come
now you say,
"I will not come"
so i shall expect you.
have i learned to understand you?