E.E. Cummings, piece # 6

E.E. Cummings poem:
it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

-turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.

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My work:

The view full of colors and life,
The landscape in front of me so serene
As I hoped the night ahead of me was clear of strife

This view on this calm afternoon was unlike anything ever seen

I sat there, completely still from miles away
With no purpose or plan;
Just needed a unusual, peaceful day

A strong breeze felt like the perfect fan
But everything else seemed to stay still

the sun only lay partially alive,
working its final way over the hill
with its dramatic, yet daily dive

-this moment I only had one fear,
that everything would just forever disappear.