Cummings -- "You Are Tired"

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

- e.e. cummings

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If you can't tell, I'm on a kick with Cummings.  I was cleaning out a bookshelf at school this afternoon, and I found my copy of 100 Poems.  I sat there on the tile floor and took a few moments to look through it, rereading the poems I'd marked, looking at the ones I hadn't.  

He never fails to please, to have the words that cut like gorgeous daggers of glass.  He never fails to have the words that I want somebody to come and say to me.  More than any other poet I know, he manages to capture that voice I wish I heard speaking to me.  

I could be the person he's talking to in this poem so easily right now.  I am tired (more than a little) and all my toys are broken.  Why isn't there somebody, some beautiful-speaking, parentheses-using man who UNDERSTANDS that who comes and knocks at the hopeless gates of my heart with a rose?  You know what?  It's okay if he forgets the flower, even.  Just as long as he brings the words....