Let's talk about stuff  

rm_brunello1955 61M
2 posts
12/26/2005 9:22 am

Last Read:
3/21/2006 8:02 am

Let's talk about stuff


Welcome to my blog. Don't know what a blog is. Hoping that it is fun and entertaining. Sound off. Nothing will suprise me.

Here's a saying that I love.

To make a young girl love you, make her cry. To make a woman love you, make her laugh.

rm_goddess1946 106F
13518 posts
12/26/2005 4:46 pm

Welcome to Blogland, Brunello....
A blog can be alot of different things to different people
and as you read and write, it will be what it is for you...

I loved your saying and believe it this a truth more
times than not...a sense of humor is critical to surviving life
on this planet!

Just a little food for thought.............
If you really want to be happy, nobody can stop you...
{=}


rm_brunello1955 61M

12/27/2005 7:01 am

The eyes are the windows to the soul. Your's smile. Thanks for contributing. Here's a gift. Tell me what you think.

Saddest Poem

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

Pablo Neruda


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