My Heart And I -- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

My Heart And I Enough! We're tired, my heart and I. We sit beside the headstone thus, And wish that name were carved for us. The moss reprints more tenderly The hard types of the mason's knife, As Heaven's sweet life renews earth's life With which we're tired, my heart and I. You see we're tired, my heart and I. We dealt with books, we trusted men, And in our own blood drenched the pen, As if such colors could not fly. We walked too straight for fortune's end, We loved too true to keep a friend; At last we're tired, my heart and I. How tired we feel, my heart and I We seem of no use in the world; Our fancies hang gray and uncurled About men's eyes indifferently; Our voice which thrilled you so, will let You sleep; our tears are only wet: What do we here, my heart and I? So tired, so tired, my heart and I! It was not thus in that old time When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime To watch the sunset from the sky. "Dear love, you're looking tired," he said: I, smiling at him, shook my head. 'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I. So tired, so tired, my heart and I! Though now none takes me on his arm To fold me close and kiss me warm Till each quick breath end in a sigh Of happy languor. Now, alone, We lean upon this graveyard stone, Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I. Tired out we are, my heart and I. Suppose the world brought diadems To tempt us, crusted with loose gems Of powers and pleasures? Let it try. We scarcely care to look at even A pretty child, or God's blue heaven, We feel so tired, my heart and I. Yet who complains? My heart and I? In this abundant earth no doubt Is little room for things worn out: Disdain them, break them, throw them by! And if before the days grew rough We once were loved, used, - well enough, I think, we've fared, my heart and I. ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861]

Zachary (A Poem).

A million greetings to my diverse readers. Most people who know me are aware that I love poetry and at times, I try to write.

Here's another I wrote two days ago. I have a lot of writes but usually don't them on this blog. I'm hoping this little poem touches someone, anyone. Hope you like.
It is titled 'Zachary'.


ZACHARY
The manliness of Zachary, the suavity of
Zachary.
Zachary, my Zachary:
Hair like an old crisped scroll, days of its breakage nigh,
The skin coating your palms screams dehydration.
Hands like a miner's: rough and unpolished and unpleasant
Eager to scoop the entirety of me off the grasshoppers ridden brown grass where our picnic mat lay,
Flipping me in the air like you would do a coin when making a bet you were sure to lose.

Zachary, my Zachary
How you would make me scream for you to put me down
Then beg you to twirl me whilst I spread out both my hands in the air
Mimicking the chirpings of a Robin - you taught me how.

The manliness of Zachary, the suavity of Zachary.
When my play flight ends, grabbing unto your brittle hair
Descending,
I forget; and when you put me on our picnic mat -
The mat you got at the thrift store,
My palm has strands of hair in it but we laugh heartily, together
Making a hair ball and tossing it at your face,
Your miner hands raising and blocking your masculine but shrinking face,
Sheilding yourself from my supposedly lethal hair ball.

Zachary, my Zachary;
And the time came.
You had to go to a place where time would be important no more.
That place where your crisped scroll-like hair would absorb moisture.
Those moonlight stories you told me.
How they made me giggle continously and in turn made you laugh.
Those rainy mornings we sang together sitting by the fireplace.
I remember you for them.
Each night when the stars give up their shyness,
I lay our picnic mat on the water starved grass
Looking up, thinking of you.
I know I'll be with you soon if fate permits.
Zachary, my Zachary.
Your manliness. Your suavity.