Rambling

You do not do, you do not do
as Sylvia Plath achoos.
So what does it all mean to you?
Well it meant so much to me
that I dare not try to tell you
in fear that it might end in peace.
All ends in time and place
for nothing is made to last.
As night dies, so does day
and we all come to pass.
We all laugh, cry, scream,
and yet we all have different dreams.
If one day we could come to know
one from another, I surely would fall
into the arms of the one
the one that let me go,
left me for gone.
All the thoughts in my head say much
and at times nothing at all.
These dreams can go on for days
after the night they've gone.
How funny that I remember
what I want everyone to know.
So you say you are happy now,
as the winter sets in
while the leaves fall in harmony,
as the nightingale weeps.
Well I guess I can say,
"I'm happy for you."
And that is what I was told to feel
as I was taught there's a God
but there ain't no justice here.
How shallow of me to think of you;
how love overwhelms me
how a simple emotion carries me away
how I let it shake me,
when there's so much hunger
in the world.