But Not to Me by Sara Teasdale

But Not to Me
by Sara Teasdale

The April night is still and sweet
With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
But not to me.

My peace is hidden in his breast
Where I shall never be,
Love comes to-night to all the rest,
But not to me.

So I love Sara Teasdale's poetry. I know it rhymes and may not seem deep but I enjoy them and they speak to me and that's what poetry is suppose to do, right? I just found this one and wanted to share it. I know you all know I'm a hopeless romantic.

Recently, I've decided that the best state of mind is one without any "interests" in mind. I like the smooth and calmness of a heart without the pains of love unrequited or unknown. People say solitude is lonely yet I welcome the consistancy and peace of mind of being in a place where love and things like it are amiss.

I have so much love in my life as it is, this life that I live. I have great friends and great family who love me and cherish me. I am 26 and loving every year that the Lord has blessed me with.
I have experienced romance and fancying. I've known heart ache and longing. I'm sure there will be more of these to come but for now, where I am now, I can appreciate the lightness that comes with a mind void of these things. For I hate the race around the table that comes with the wondering and unknown of another's feelings and thoughts. My mind is too weak and needs to be beaten into control. Too easily do I let it chase it's thoughts like a cat with it's tail. Better that it have no tail at all, really.

Passing time is welcomed like a friend who helps me let go of those thoughts and let go of the words and promises that were never there. But only imagined. For I am the worst magician and mind reader. Oh, the fool am I. But in my foolishness His wisdom and love came forward. Pressed into me. Wrapped around me. Engulfing me.

These are ramblings and my mind's wanderings.