“And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.”
oh how dead i must look to you!
sitting here, thinking of the past
a fool
“a thing of beauty is a joy for ever”
really Keats?
i mean i know the world admires you like hell
but couldn’t you do better than that?
you gave me hope
sad little big hope
of a love being joyous
a dead love
not to mention the obvious but
i dreamed of the forever, so silly to trust a poet, aren’t we all?
a thing of beauty
transient or perennial
can be ugly
couldn’t you just say that?
how tough was it for you to say that beauty can be ugly?
now i’m not talking about all that glitters isn’t gold okay, relax
i’m saying how you can be half diamond, half coal, or maybe half diamond, some coal and some dirt
you know how it goes
then why Keats?
you know i recite poems better than the verses they want me to pray with, you know how if there’s a God, there’s a mother, and if there’s a mother, there’s an earth, and if there’s an earth, there’s nature, and if there’s nature, there are your poems, and if there are your poems, well, what to say? there is a broken heart at the end of it, Keats
the full stop ending your poem is my love story.
I’m aware that this is too big for a title but right now, for me, there is no better title for this piece than Keats’s words.
