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Deep In Silence
i stared at all my stars as each one fell to the ground
i opened my mouth to scream but failed to make a single sound
The serpent's tail wrapped all around my body as i fight to breathe
Making all these decisions, contemplating, wondering where they'll all lead
I Am Sorry
I'm sorry i could not protect you from the hands of evil that took you away from this world
And you could give so much to it
Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
The Fraternal Duel
‘Oh! hide me from the sun! I loath the sight!
I cannot bear his bright, obtrusive ray:
Nought is so dreadful to my gloom as light!
Nothing so dismal as the blaze of day!
The Cupid’s Arrow
The Cupid’s arrow has your name; it got stucked in my heart; but
Friendship is our only description; hoping that it is not the final of destiny’s decision.
Sometimes I have question;
“Why do I like you?”
Nine months in my mother's womb was the most wonderful phase of her life, And my first step into the unknown then- Was the most beautiful moment she cherished; Unawareness and uncertainties my future held- Yet she did all that she could do to make it bright and beautiful. But only if dreams could turn into reality, I would have been a better child to her then;
I shattered her hopes and dreams- Compelled her to walk the path of guilt and shame, And now she only
sits wondering, where she went wrong, That transformed me to a person who now hardly remembers Mother's sweet songs.
Importance of my life has vanished, In the fog of wants and selfishness- Getting high and getting my kicks, Are the things that I now only embrace; I steal, I cheat and manipulate, Just to get the substance of my choice, I do weird and unsocial acts- Just to satisfy my Euphoric Thirst.
This might have been a place for sleep,
But, as from that small hollow there
Hosts of bright thistledown begin
Their dazzling journey through the air,
Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote,
Mad with melody, rhythm-rife
From the very first to the final note.
Give me his “Artist's Life!”
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Endymion: Book Iii
There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen
Their baaing vanities, to browse away
The comfortable green and juicy hay
Sometime now past in the Autumnal Tide,
When Phœbus wanted but one hour to bed,
The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride,
Were gilded o're by his rich golden head.
At home, in my flannel gown, like a bear to its floe,
I clambered to bed; up the globe's impossible sides
I sailed all night—till at last, with my black beard,
My furs and my dogs, I stood at the northern pole.
The Nine Little Goblins
They all climbed up on a high board-fence--
Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes--
Nine little Goblins that had no sense,
And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies;
James Whitcomb Riley
What sudden bugle calls us in the night
And wakes us from a dream that we had shaped;
Flinging us sharply up against a fight
We thought we had escaped.
The Art Of Drowning
I wonder how it all got started, this business
about seeing your life flash before your eyes
while you drown, as if panic, or the act of submergence,
could startle time into such compression, crushing
Everyday before work, went into the powder room and cried.
Came out acting normal cause i didnt want people asking why.
Hid so many things because im afraid no one understands.
Cried many tears but i came out looking happy, fine.
Contrary Theses (ii)
One chemical afternoon in mid-autumn,
When the grand mechanics of earth and sky were near;
Even the leaves of the locust were yellow then,
The Envoy Of Mr Cogito
Go where those others went to the dark boundary
for the golden fleece of nothingness your last prize
go upright among those who are on their knees
Fall, falling, fallen. That's the way the season
Changes its tense in the long-haired maples
That dot the road; the veiny hand-shaped leaves
Redden on their branches (in a fiery competition
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
Rainer Maria Rilke
I Can We Can
You can and because you can you will
You were planted into this world of struggle
Sprouted into a hustler
She who ever had remained in the depth of my being,
in the twilight of gleams and of glimpses;
she who never opened her veils in the morning light,
will be my last gift to thee, my God, folded in my final song.
Courage isn't a brilliant dash,
A daring deed in a moment's flash;
It isn't an instantaneous thing
Born of despair with a sudden spring
Edgar Albert Guest
An Autumn Homily
Here let us sit beneath this oak, and hear
The acorns fitfully fall one by one,
The final harvest of the fading year
Now Summer eves and Autumn days are done.
I quivered. I flared up, and then was extinguished.
I shook. I had made a proposal - but late,
Too late. I was scared, and she had refused me.
I pity her tears, am more blessed than a saint.
O thou the last fulfilment of life,
Death, my death, come and whisper to me!
Day after day I have kept watch for thee;
SHE will not sleep, for fear of dreams,
But, rising, quits her restless bed,
And walks where some beclouded beams
Of moonlight through the hall are shed.
An Essay On Man: Epistle I.
Having proposed to write some pieces on human life and manners, such as (to use my Lord Bacon's expression) come home to men's business and bosoms, I thought it more satisfactory to begin with considering man in the abstract, his nature and his state; since, to prove any moral duty, to enforce any moral precept, or to examine the perfection or imperfection of any creature whatsoever, it is necessary first to know what condition and relation it is placed in, and what is the proper end and purpose of its being.
MY OWN WILD BURNS! these rude-wrought rhymes of thine
In golden worth are like the unshapely coin
Of some new realm, yet pure as from the mineâ??
And Art may well be spared with such alloy
The Ballad Of The Leather Medal
Only a Leather Medal, hanging there on the wall,
Dingy and frayed and faded, dusty and worn and old;
Yet of my humble treasures I value it most of all,
And I wouldn't part with that medal if you gave me its weight in gold.
Come, Magdalen, and bind my hair,
And put me on my sad array;
I to my father's house repair,
And hear his final doom to-day.
Captain Craig Ii
Yet that ride had an end, as all rides have;
And the days coming after took the road
That all days take,-though never one of them
Went by but I got some good thought of it
Edwin Arlington Robinson
The Haunted Oak
Pray why are you so bare, so bare,
Oh, bough of the old oak-tree;
And why, when I go through the shade you throw,
Runs a shudder over me?
Paul Laurence Dunbar
... Oceanward I am ever yearning,
Where far it rolls in its calm and grandeur,
The weight of mountain-like fogbanks bearing,
Forever wandering and returning.