Shakespeare's Sister

This air that I breathe Has the breath of something fascinating I saw In these brilliant flames of the self Transcending into fascination­–   The air breathes in air–  Life itself  Seems like some distant airs of paradise, Filled with more airs,  Albeit sour and dry. These breathable and unbreathable  Airs of life Transcend and begin to drain The airs of mine.   The destiny that drives me down Doesn’t seem to press this air– Of sombre dryness and brisky briskness– Embracing forth the idea of the self.   Yet but now that you are gone, Life doesn’t seem like this Breath of air that I breathe– But why?

My baby came forth with hands so small, With feet so soft and smile so bright as Spring’s sweet glow. It was as if the spring of her life was the spring of mine too.   Spring, they say, is the season of hope. The blossom for me was her sweet glow, Her laughter, the sound of crickets and bees buzzing through And her smile, the hundred sunflowers dancing in the sun-kissed meadows.   I have suffered winter before. I have cried a rain or two too, I have breathed the crisp summer winds, And have heard the laughter of the valleys too.   Yet, this spring I laid on, in a blue hospital gown,  looking at her sleeping on the aisle below She soon cried hope as the summer winds blew.   Then a speck of yellow as bright as a dandelion  But with a dusky hew. The nurse cried “havoc”; I cried red too.   For then I promised her a golden charm That “I shall dream a dream of hope for us tonight”, But soon, I could no long...