Fifteen Years Old

Fifteen Years Old


My soul has questions that I want to know the answers of
Deep and wondrous questions about intellect and love
Questions about time and space, eternity – and me –
Questions about things that could be, and of things that be.

My soul can get no answer to these questions, though I try.
These questions have no words, and so the answers pass them by.

To Jennifer Rachow (Jex)

In the cheery days of summer, all the old trees live
And a truly summer breath is the beauty that they give
In fall they live more vividly in flags of orange and red;
But in the long dull winter the old trees seem quite dead.

Except: on bitter nights, when the trees are standing white –
The night is black but the death-pale moon gives a wicked sort of light
The endless winds are blowing, and when the winds arrive
In a weird and wild sort of way the trees are very alive

They writhe in the wind and moonlight, when the moon’s in an awful trance
And the winds rave over the summer’s ghosts as they dance their horrible dance.

At Falls Baptist Church

My heart stands alone from man
partly by nature, partly by choice.
I do not choose to give my heart
But to God.


They call me proud, and strange.
Is it they who befriend the unheeded gems?


Left alone, it is natural that I should turn inwards,
find my occupation in private thoughts and emotions,
lonely humor


When I smile while others are bored
And do not notice when they smile,
Perhaps I am thinking a beautiful thought
that would not occur to them
Or perhaps I am talking to God


I think them strange,
that they think and understand and live
only in others

A High-School Sophomore’s Views on
Algebra and Geometry,
as Well as Other Putrid and Odious Subjects
That Cause us to Perish and Expire

Eternity doth span before, Eternity behind
Life and Youth are beautiful, and Love shines and hath shined.
But in my mind doth lurk this thing: What doth equal X?
And after this equation, an equation cometh next.
A sheet of paper lieth here before my drying eyes
And how to prove this theorem my mind cannot surmise.
The paper crieth, “Poetry! This my rightful lot!”
But on my mind and paper ever sitteth this dark blot:
Life, and Youth, and Shining Love, pray what doth equal x?
And after this equation an equation cometh next
I’m sure my Youth would leave me now but for the hand of God –
And he knows best, but I’d like just now to hide me deep in the sod
At thought of Life before me, stretching on with X after X
Sure Life would flee, could it see like me, equations coming next.
The hand of God doth not restrain my youth from leaving me;
It slips away with weeping while I study angle B
Love will come in spite of X, then all will drain away;
I sigh to think of time I’ve spent bisecting segment A.
Life, and Youth, and shining Love – Eternity is next.
Then, I shall never care nor think of what doth equal X!

A Tragic Fantasy

There was a fire in his eyes that burned into my soul.
He didn’t know; his fire eyes were set upon his goal.

And it was not a pleasant fire, nor yet a fire of love.
It was a strange fire, that I could not tell the meaning of.

He did grand things, self-confident (with fire in his eyes)
I thought him very noble, and I thought him very wise.

And then he looked. And when he saw his fire in my soul
He glared. And there reflected in his fire I saw his goal.

And oh! It was a startling thing – his fire was but his pride.
His goal was his own glory and his self was at his side.

The fire that from out his eyes had burned into my soul
Leapt up in one last painful flare, and left a blackened hole.

But he had looked, and seen his fire there before it died.
My soul! His glowing glare is as forever as his pride.

I Knew

A man of the sun,
A woman of the moon
Loved –
In his sphere and in hers.
His love was the burning sun’s love;
It was Great.
Hers was as the moon,
Which is beautiful!
From afar,
He had his spots and burstings, oh!
She hid always a dark side.

It is not so, now.
He mercy! did come and engulf her.
Her love is his love,
Her dark side
Melted in the glowing of his fervent invasion.
And they burn happily, as one,
Though they destroyed a world
In the coming together.

I, a maiden, do not understand.

To Sixteen Years Old

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