Novel & Cerita Poem From The Outsiders...nothing Gold Can Stay

she quoted. Your voice is like a bird, but everyone’s ears are bleeding. From the inside, your house shines and shines, but from the outside, you can see it’s built from bones. From out here, it looks like a graveyard, and the garden’s all ash. And besides, your breath stinks. We’re through. She remembered a poem she read by Ross Gay years ago and burst out into laughter. " The last line always gets me." She laughed harder, almost falling off her bed.

Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

"Good fortune has been given, Goldenrod" Red Catchfly Forest, Myrtle, 1902 "Run! the sun is going down, the gun reaches for the crown. Two were shattered, cowardness scattered." "A rose I held, as it upheld my heart. Dear, we are being reduced everyone is fleeing." "The fondness needs to be protected My dearest, we are affected. Near the Hemlock approach, they're not in their sincerest." "Here came a Butterfly weed,

Let’s take a walk by the sea-shore, Spend hours collecting the choicest pearls, Gaze at the starlit sky and try counting the stars; Meet in the streets, explore unknown lanes And find each other lost in one of those; Tell stories to each other, of the pauper and the hazel-eyed princess, And of all that add colour to life, But let’s not say: we are in love! Let’s weave millions of thoughts at leisure, Frame and reframe our lines a thousand times, Think that we’ll share those with each other in the next Spring

He glanced at Elena's pretty face, which was leaning against her chest, certainly listening to the peaceful frequency of her heart. Aaron cleared his throat, and then began to recite the poem: "Ah, if we've already lost track of the time. If together we've already thrown everything away. Tell me now how I'm going to leave, if, when I met you, I started to dream, I did so many crazy things . I broke with the world, I burned my ships. Tell me where I can still go. If we, in the antics of eternal nights, have already confused our legs so much." The man paused briefly, using the time to take a deep breath and analyze the blue gaze that stared at her face, that infiltrated her soul and fixed the

She read the poem on the topmost page: Blurry eyes, in a haze, Cry silently near the window, Go without speaking for days, Written words are all that remain. What did I do wrong? You call me a disgrace. Sleep with pretty women, perfect bodies Yet you dare show me that face? I sit by my lonesome, Never a hair out of place, Temptation walks by, You get in the way. Dismay, disarray, I seek comfort, The warmth of a stranger's arms,

Our sandcastle was gone. I could see it crumbling under the incessant pounding of rain, melting back into the beach. It was no longer beautiful. It was ruined. Destroyed. The fact that it too was going away broke my heart. Nothing gold can stay... I picked up my feet and started to run again, needing to find a release from the pain.

The days proceeded moody and leaves were falling, Yet you are still there to keep me aspiring, Those sleepless nights that you showed my worth, I thought you were truly down to earth, The days come cold, Same as your heart's constantly changing, You eventually manifested your true colours, Which it had given me tremendous dolours, With just a simple misunderstanding, We end up ravaging, To perceive that everything was in contentment, Though deep inside my soul there is a massive disenchantment. Every minute, Every day, Every week, Every month, You're still in my heart. Too much loneliness, Too much sickness, Too much suffering, Too much pain, I will still hold on for gain. The problems come,

Maybe one day my talent will get me somewhere better in life. Ah ,grief, I should not treat you like a homeless dog, who comes to the back door for a crust,for a meatless bone , I should trust you. I should coax you into the house and give you, your own corner,a worn mat to lie on, your own water dish . You think I don't know you've been living under my porch. You long for your real place to be readied before winter comes . You need your name, your collar and tag, you need the right to warn off intruders, to consider my house your own and me your person and yourself my own dog . A poem by Denise Levertov.

The last light of the day caught the gold through the window, turning it to fire, to blood, to the color of a scream made solid. I touched the scar on my abdomen. I touched the cold stone of the font. I was full, now. Full of gold, full of silence, full of the extinction I had curated. And he was outside, in the dark, with the ashes of his son and the ghost of mine, clutching a crumpled paper that granted him nothing—not a kingdom, not an heir, not even the right to look upon the monuments to his own erasure. I smiled, and this time, the smile reached the gold in the font, and the gold smiled back.