Lame Poetry for Critique

[JPeG]

FOR A METAMORPHOSIS AT WALDEN POND

I suck out the marrow, but may I ask why?
For is it not life that causes me to die?
And if to be awake is indeed to be alive,
Then is to sleep also to die?

I am all alone in this forest
People are hell
I can feel my brittle breath
But cannot see my fragile self
Am I really here?
Because it is so hard to tell
These damned divine woods
Take me further from Hell

--------------------------------------------------
LE MAIRÉAD

She turns my prose into poetry,
Speech into song
I would forsake any deity
Commit any wrong
If only to exist in the presence of her,
Let alone mutter a solitary word

It is not that food has lost its taste,
Or that my heart skips a beat
Nor is it that sun will not rise
Or that the ground trembles at my feet
It is that myself,
My total being,
Without any hesitation
Acquires complacent meaning

With a simple thought of her,
The world becomes real;
Something Metaphysical,
Yet something I can feel
Above all else,
It creates a paradox:
I lust not for her
But I Live for her
And I would die for her,
Yet I do not exist, except for her