What's in the Works and...."Love" by Me

So the reason there has been no lyrics is because I've been stuck on this one.... All my other "songs" have developed a rough draft in the first day or so.

Until....this one I've been working on. I think I've been trying to to cram way to much into a few verses and tackling to big of concepts. You know how when idea becomes dear to your heart it can never get good enough on paper? Well, that's where this idea is at. I care to much about it now to ever do it justice.
Anyways...I broke my brain on it for an hour or so today and then decided to loosen up and work on something else. If I just wrote something quick to get my fingers warmed up again, maybe it would go better.

The result is this song, Love.
I wrote it in the style of my Death song, because to me, it seems only Christ's love is the opposite of death. I'm not sure I tackled a manageable concept here. I had a lot of issues running through my head when I wrote it, but I'm hoping it turned out making some sort of sense.
I'm certainly more ready to go back to the challenging project now.

So anyways, here it is. Maybe someday you'll see the other project.

Love

I want to have it
I want to feel it
I want to horde it
I want to give it away

I just can’t see it
I just can’t touch it
I just can’t hold it
I just can’t give it away

They try to say it
They try to give it
They try to show it
I try to give it away

I can’t receive it
How can I give it?
Must I live it?
I receive to give away

I don’t deserve it
I did not earn it
I can’t accept it
I have none to give away

He freely gave it
He died to save it
I can’t repay it
Can I give His love away?

© Miss Pickwickian


Thanks for reading,
Miss Pickwickian

And so I Continue in My Endeavors to Appreciate Poetry

LXXI and LXXII from Shakespeare's Sonnets

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,

But let your love even with my life decay;
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.

O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
To do more for me than mine own desert,
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you
For I am shamed by that which bring forth,
And so should you, to love things, nothing worth.


Thought you'd all be in for something cheery on a Monday. ;-)

Thanks for reading,
Miss Pickwickian

Busy Dying

"He not busy being born is busy dying."
~Bob Dylan