When will you return?

I heard your voice today

only in my head.

My messages made it your way

It was good to know you're still there

You're still thinking of me

You still remember me too.

I miss you still,

for as long as you're gone.

I'll miss you until I see you again

Till I hear your voice,

till I hear your laugh

Thinking of you always

Miss you until next time.

Why have you gone?

source

I miss you, miss you so much.

I hate that you're gone.

No where in my sight.

I see you in my mind, smiling that smile.

I miss you in my head.

I miss you now that you're gone.

I hope to see you again.

I miss our talks

I miss YOU.

I want to sit with you,

I want to sit on the porch,

talking about girls,

smoking cigarettes.

Talking all the talking we can talk.

I miss you.

Phillis Wheatley

Phillis  Wheatley

Photo taken here

On Imagination-Phillis Wheatley

THY various works, imperial queen, we see, How bright their forms! how deck'd with pomp by thee!  They wond'rous acts in beauteous order stand, And all attest how potent is thine hand.  From Helicon's refulgent heights attend, Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend:  To tell her gories with a faithful tongue, Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.  Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies, Till some lov'd object strikes her wand'ring eyes, Whose silken fetters all the senses bind, And soft captivity involves the mind.  Imaginiation! who can sing thy force?  Or who describe the swiftness of thy course? Soaring through air to find the bright abode,  Th' empyreal palace of the thund'ring God, We on thy pinions can surpass the wind, And leave the rolling universe behind: From star to star the mental optics rove, Measure the skies, and range the realms above. There in one view we grasp the mighty whole, Or with new worlds amaze th' unbounded soul. Through Winter frowns to Fancy's raptur'd eyes The fields may flourish, and gat scenes arise; The frozen deeps may break their iron bands, And bid their waters murmur o'er the sands. Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign, And with her flow'ry riches deck the plain; Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round, And all the forest may with leaves be crown'd: Show'rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose, And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.  Such is thy pow'r, nor are thine orders vain, O thou the leader of the mental train: In full perfection all thy works are wrought, And thine the sceptre o'er the realms of thought. Before thy throne the subject-passions bow, Of subject-passions sov'reign ruler thou; At thy command joy rushes on the heart; And through the glowing veins the spirits dart. Fancy might now her silken pinions try To rise from earth, and sweep th' expanse on high: From Tithon's bed now might Aurora rise, Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies, While a pure stream of light o'erflows the skies. The monarch of the day I might behold,  And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold, But I reluctant leave the pleasing views, Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse; Winter austere forbids me to aspire, And northern tempests damp the rising fire; They chill the tides of Fancy's flowing sea, Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.