whats your favorite poem? your own or from someone else?

The waste land is my favorite. I don't think I can post it on here for copy right reasons.

So here's one of my favorite ones that I wrote.

Starving for Mary

I Eat and you leave me. I Drink
- and my thirst for you is gone
It is in the pit of my stomach
- the memories of you are drawn

I think. And without you
- my thoughts are empty
My dreams are of you - alone
- You are the season to my ending
I am the broken arrow

These sunken ribs, boney shins
- are the scars that I must carry
For the days I've gone without you
- O my sweet Mary

I hunger for your embrace
- I thirst for the day
That we will again be two
- And it will again be just me & you

For miles and miles - I will creep
- through the blinding snow
And the lonely streets

Nor will I eat or drink or sleep
- 'till one day you comeback to me
And I will drop down to your feet
- And you will look down at me
at my Emaciated face, my weary being

Tell me then... will you leave?

Sweet Mary

Mary.. Mary where do you go
when the world begins to slow
And the light outside gets low
and I see you there - mary
staring out the window

The seasons may change
but your face remains the same
(I change too - mary)

Do you go back to your childhood home
The farm your birthplace - back
to your mother's warm embrace
To the smell of your father's hands
Like homemade wheat and yeast
a brewery in mid October

And did it trouble your adolescent mind
to find
that a father's hands
weren't always so kind

You ran, didn't you, mary
but your running was aimless
So that now at forty
you find yourself back at the front door
Of that childhood home

Back to that old door-knocker
that barely hung on with one loose nail
and still does... Turn around, mary!

Come back to me... come back to bed

Two leaves blowing in the wind, hath no meaning! - mary

Come back to me... come back to bed

And let me erase
all those
devilish things he did.

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses
your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its
heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the
daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem
less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart,
even as you have always accepted the seasons that
pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the
winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within
you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy
in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by
the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has
been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has
moistened with His own sacred tears.
Khalil Gibran

Sonnet 116: Let me not to the marriage of true minds

By William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

probably langston hughes