He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
(W H Auden, Funeral Blues)
"Often Auden's work may seem a rather marginal criticism of life and society written from the sidelines."
well of course, who would not criticize this disgusting life we live? this world?
there is no sympathy. no one is truly selfless.
and you dont just
love everyone you meet.
actually,
in life, it seems as though
only a small percentage
of those we encounter
fall into the column
of those we say
"i love you"
to and
mean it.
did you mean it scorpio?
when you said you love me
was it true?
do you know of my flaws
and love me despite?
YOU ARE READING
Scorpio Lover
Poetryeverything was beautiful about him. his eyes. his hair. his lips. his hands. his nose. his stomach. i don't even care about
