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

Then I remember I don’t bowl. Scott Dear Sarah, I’ve done it. I’m reading a poem that I know I should have read years ago, but it’s just so damn long. There’s a bit of Italian at the beginning that basically translates to, “Listen up,” and then there’s this: Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats

(Listen to the song while reading. "Thought I found a way, Thought I found a way out. But you never go away, So I guess I gotta stay now. Oh, I hope someday I'll make it out of here. Even if takes all night or hundred years. Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near. Wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fears "

The lines of the poem she wrote kept echoing in my mind: “With feet lost in the fine sand I’m heading for the shore, shy and tentative To introduce myself to her, as if I were a stranger To meet her cold wave that intimidates me Like a great doctor sends me on my way The golden ball, the charming one With its flaming arms Warms the angry waves.” Angry, enraged, the sea awaits me With its waves lost in the horizons My deepest sorrow she bears on her arms And loses it in the distant skies.

I ask myself. "Umm...no." "Hmm..." I look around the room for inspiration. The red ink stands out to me. Stay? Could that fit? I want to run far, far away To a place where I feel I can’t stray Stay somewhere I feel welcome And not like an outcast Because it seems everywhere I go I feel like a victim eaten up fast For once I plead Someone to ask me Will you please... stay?' And just like that, with the one word the poem completed itself, it became whole , it was finished, it's own living and breathing entity of words and letters and deep meaning.

"After love and fear, there’s pride; After tears, the night; After all the words are gone, A chair with just one light. After memories, the dream That you will come home safe; After sleep, another day Of waiting for my life. After hope, the happiness Of thinking of your love; After moments of despair A stone no thought can move. After all the sacrifice, The hunger and the pain, The passions and the promises, The losses and the gains, There’s nothing but my love for you, Which waits upon the wind To bring you from the barricades That now you must defend." Dylan winked at Noah as he ended his poem and the population of students whammed their hands in appreciation. "That was really nice, Dylan.

It stung deeper as a prose rang in his mind; 'Twinkles, twinkles in the world; gone for the birth of a mightier us. Good or bad, right or wrong; being the strongest wins it all. Dimming, dimming we call you to be; rest your soul for our piece of peace.' "Argh..." he groaned. Staggering to the side of the road, he crouched next to the cracked pavement. The lines kept repeating on their own. It was as if there were hundreds of nails hammering on him, attaching the belongings he refused to take.

The poem went this way, Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I did not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uprising rush Oh quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die.

* Burn me, gently gently If I were to die tomorrow, If you woke up to my body, stiff, lifeless, And you knew that the days will never see my smile again, Burn me, gently gently. Do not bury me, Don't dig six feet to lay my restless spirit to rest, For the wild was in me, and it cannot be tamed by a pile of dirt, Do not excavate the opaque evenness of Mother Earth to deposit me, for I am neither golden nor leaden, neither metallic nor silvern, Sitting with patience waiting to be discovered. Burn me, gently gently,

His head spins, the sudden attack of the sunlight hurts his eyes, but what hurts him the most are the words written on the sack. Stay away from OUR Gold, whore!

​Golden paint on a cracked foundation, You hold the room like an obligation. Ice-blue eyes looking right through the crowd, Speaking in whispers when the world is too loud. You pull me into the shadow of your name, Then walk away like it's part of the game. Arrogant smile, but your knuckles are torn, A cardboard king wearing a crown of thorns. You tell me I'm seen, but tomorrow we're blind, Leaving the ghost in the wreckage behind.