It took me 45 years to write this:
All of my life, so hard I tried,
Of good to feel, no more to cry.
Gobblets, needles, bowls and pills,
And good I felt, or thought I did,
Untill one day my feelings died,
And slipped away my life, my will,
My thoughts, my wants, my sense of time.
And then awake, awoke found I.
I glimpsed at love and lights did shine,
Upon my breast, on this breast, mine.
No longer did I want to die.
The love, the joy, yet pain I'd find.
The pain I'd find, yet love and joy,
To die, to die, but I could die!
These feelings I could no more hide!
No more to hide, but I could die!
The pain, sorrow, the shame felt I,
But such feelings cannot kill.
My wrist to slash, could I yet still?
But no more joy or love I'd feel.
I'd never laugh, if not to cry,
No future me you'd ever find,
If love was naught,
I'd surely die.
'99 By mac Ghille Dhuinn
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Thanks to all of you.
Thou wouldst be loved? - then let thy heart
from its present pathway part not!
Being everything which now thou art,
Be nothing which thou art not.
So with the world thy gentle ways,
Thy grace, thy more than beauty,
Shall be an endless theme of praise,
And love - a simple duty.
EDGAR ALLEN POE 1835
