Je veux te connaître.

Pourquoi ne peut-il pas être aussi facile que "Je t'aime"? 
Je veux te connaître.
Je veux connaitre comment ton cœur bat, 
comment tu déplacez ton pieds à la rythym de pluie d'été. 
Je veux pas connaitre qu'est-ce que tu crois, mais qu'est-ce que vous pouvez croire. 
Je veux te connaître.



It has been a constant barrage of bullets I've been matrix-ing lately, I've missed posting. Anyways, this is my rough French at work, hopefully its correct. Here is the actual English meaning I was trying to do titled "I want to get to know you"

Why is it never as easy as "I love you"?
I want to know you.
I want to know how your heart beats,
How you like to move your feet to the rhythm of summer rain.
I don't want to know what you think, but what you can believe.
I want to get to know you.

Why--Haiku

Why do you leave these 

Hallways unpainted with the 

Joy of old friendship.

Upcoming poem!

Here are a couple lines from a poem I am working on.

"We don't know if the choices we ultimately decide are right, or not.
That is why they are called "Decisions".
We can't pick-pocket perfect outcomes.
We have to determine whether to make THEM happy,
Or to resolve the situation to best suite yourself.
We must either solve for X or Y,
Because any line we draw will only be crossed once by the axis that your world revolves around."

Daffodils

Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed--and gazed--but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils. 

----William Wordsworth----

Without Hope

Bleh. Sick for a week... then school make up  for another week. Its nice to be back on here though, with a new free time as Spring Break is in now in our midst. Back to posting!

Today for poetry club, we took an assortment of random words clipped out of magazines, and turned them into short poems. Here is mine:

Without Hope

My chances speak between my spine and skin.

All southern country people know the gateway to a guesthouse under a baggage hotel,

is across short coasts...

A long need to just be with them.

There you have it, kinda odd, but I liked it :)