Poetry Pro Anima

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeoning of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate,  How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. - William Ernest Henley -

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I'm not going to let anybody see you. there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he's in there. there's a bluebird in my heart that . wants to get out. but I'm too tough for him,. I say,. stay down, do you want to mess. me up?. you want to screw up the. works?. you want to blow my book sales in . Europe?. there's a bluebird in my heart that. wants to get out. but I'm too clever, I only let him out. at night sometimes. when everybody's asleep.. I say, I know that you're there,. so don't be . sad. . then I put him back, but he's singing a little in there, I haven't quite let him die and we sleep together like that with our secret pact and it's nice enough to make a man weep, but I don't weep