And now for something completely differentI've caught the poetry month blog-bug. Trying to pick a "favorite" poem is simply impossible for me—my favorites change depending on what is going on in my life. Sometimes I like rhymes; other times, I'm all about free verse. Some days I want hard poems, and other days I'm a sucker for doggerel and bathos. But this one always gets me.
one's not half two. It's two are halves of one:
which halves reintegrating,shall occur
no death and any quantity;but than
all numerable mosts the actual more
minds ignorant of stern miraculous
this every truth-beware of heartless them
(given the scalpel,they dissect a kiss;
or,sold the reason,they undream a dream)
one is the song which fiends and angels sing:
all murdering lies by mortals told make two.
Let liars wilt,repaying life they're loaned;
we(by a gift called dying born)must grow
deep in dark least ourselves remembering
love only rides his year.
All lose,whole find
(e.e. cummings, of course)