The Life Beyond
He wakes, who never thought to wake again,
Who held the end was Death. He opens eyes
Slowly, to one long livid oozing plain
Closed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;
And waits; and once in timeless sick surmise
Through the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,
Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,
Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;
An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speck
Of moveless horror; an Immortal One
Cleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a fly
Fast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.
I thought when love for you died, I should die.
It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1910)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Life Beyond, The
He wakes, who never thought to wake again,
Who held the end was Death. He opens eyes
Slowly, to one long livid oozing plain
Closed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;
And waits; and once in timeless sick surmise
Through the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,
Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,
Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;
An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speck
Of moveless horror; an Immortal One
Cleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a fly
Fast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.
I thought when love for you died, I should die.
It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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By the Grey Gulf-water
Far to the Northward there lies a land,
A wonderful land that the winds blow over,
And none may fathom or understand
The charm it holds for the restless rover;
A great grey chaos -- a land half made,
Where endless space is and no life stirreth;
There the soul of a man will recoil afraid
From the sphinx-like visage that Nature weareth.
But old Dame Nature, though scornful, craves
Her dole of death and her share of slaughter;
Many indeed are the nameless graves
Where her victims sleep by the Grey Gulf-water.
Slowly and slowly those grey streams glide,
Drifting along with a languid motion,
Lapping the reed-beds on either side,
Wending their way to the North Ocean.
Grey are the plains where the emus pass
Silent and slow, with their dead demeanour;
Over the dead man's graves the grass
Maybe is waving a trifle greener.
Down in the world where men toil and spin
Dame Nature smiles as man's hand has taught her;
Only the dead men her smiles can win
In the great lone land by the Grey Gulf-water.
For the strength of man is an insect's strength
In the face of that mighty plain and river,
And the life of a man is a moment's length
To the life of the stream that will run for ever.
And so it comes that they take no part
In small world worries; each hardy rover
Rides like a paladin, light of heart,
With the plains around and the blue sky over.
And up in the heavens the brown lark sings
The songs the strange wild land has taught her;
Full of thanksgiving her sweet song rings --
And I wish I were back by the Grey Gulf-water.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Retrieved Poetry
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
But the inspiration keeps coming,
But the memory keeps living.
Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;
It dies only if it is not poetry
And there is only a good few poetry.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
Until we start seeing poetry as poetry
And nothing more, until that day,
Until we start thinking he is inspired,
Until we stop thinking for the poet;
He is possessed he is innocent.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument.
Even as we cut from the same tree,
Even as we speak same universal language,
You cannot cut deep if your axe's blunt.
We can never speak from same mouth.
You can only say your own thought.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument,
If poetry is dead killed by death,
If poetry is dead swallowed by death,
The corpse should be in our front.
We should know how to bury it.
We should dig not cover it with dust.
Poetry is dead,
If poetry is really dead,
There is cause to weep bitterly,
There is cause to think deeply
For the world has been stripped naked.
For poetry is great, ageless, timeless, bottomless
At the burial we must remain emotionless.
poem by Chime Justice Ndubuisi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sacred to the Memory of “Unknown”
Oh, the wild black swans fly westward still,
While the sun goes down in glory—
And away o’er lonely plain and hill
Still runs the same old story:
The sheoaks sigh it all day long—
It is safe in the Big Scrub’s keeping—
’Tis the butcher-birds’ and the bell-birds’ song
In the gum where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping—
(It is heard in the chat of the soldier-birds
O’er the grave where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping).
Ah! the Bushmen knew not his name or land,
Or the shame that had sent him here—
But the Bushmen knew by the dead man’s hand
That his past life lay not near.
The law of the land might have watched for him,
Or a sweetheart, wife, or mother;
But they bared their heads, and their eyes were dim,
For he might have been a brother!
(Ah! the death he died brought him near to them,
For he might have been a brother.)
Oh, the wild black swans to the westward fade,
And the sunset burns to ashes,
And three times bright on an eastern range
The light of a big star flashes,
Like a signal sent to a distant strand
Where a dead man’s love sits weeping.
And the night comes grand to the Great Lone Land
O’er the grave where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping,
And the big white stars in their clusters blaze
O’er the Bush where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dead Or Alive
There in the shadows, looks like a hand
Without its owner, to give it a command
Its got a purpose but I dont know what it is
Im in trouble
There in the streets, looks like a man
But something wrong that I dont understand
His eyes are open but he dont see a thing
His skin is peeling off, his bones are sticking out
Im getting scared
Oh my God (is it dead? )
Is it living? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
(is it dead? ), is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead? (is it dead? )
Is it dead or alive?
Hiding in the cupboards, like little mice
Hiding in the frigerator, that isnt nice
Its not an animal, it dont have legs
No one else can see it
It moves so fast, corner of my eye
Look again its gone, its hiding
Wont somebody help me, doesnt anybody care?
It waits so patiently, for me to lose my guard
Im getting scared
Is it dead, is it
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead or alive
(is it dead)
Is it dead
(is it dead)
Is it dead, is it
I remember there was a time
When dead and buried meant just that
Underneath the cold dark ground
Things stay put!
Oh them bones they make them bodies walk
Them bones, them bones
If they could only talk!
Is it dead (fade)
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here Lie's The truth
“Here Lies the truth”,
On Her tombstone this will be wrote.
It was never spoke when She was living,
So also in death, it will be unspoke.
By Her it was never said
it was as though pulling out Her soul,
So here lies the truth and herself dead
Both has died in sadness and woe.
Here lies the truth,
Not once by her was it cried,
Not in the days that she was living,
Not even in the day that She had died.
She must of believed that it was a sin
To open Her heart and listen to the word
So She closed her heart and locked it shut,
And She never believed in no one but Her.
Here lies the truth,
It lived but a very short life,
Though the Woman died of years of age
The truth though, never had a chance to try.
Everyone She knew had learned Her lie
They never believed a word that she said
So when She finally tried to speak the truth,
Her heart stopped; and She laid dead.
Here lies the truth
It lived but a very short life,
It was loved by neither Child or Man,
For they believe its living was but a lie.
So here in the grave it will lay dead
As it had lived in this woman's soul,
Never again will it be uttered or thought of,
Never till the end of time will it be thought of or known.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aces & 8's
Walked up in the bar and sat down on the stool
And got the low down from the guy with the jewel
He was playin pool and he thought he was good
Cause he bet me five dimes, he could sink em with his foot
He grabbed a stick, tried to kick it with his heel
Did a sick back flip and ended up full kneel
He didn't squeal, but it looked like it hurt
And it did cause he took me for my cash and my shirt
I got worked, but what's worse than that
Just as he was leaving he tipped his hat
Then he laughed and said, I'm sorry bout your luck
When he walked out the door he got hit by a truck
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
That's a dead man's hand
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
That's a dead man's hand
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
That's a dead man's hand
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
How bout the guy, used to hang in the clubs
Getting all the numbers and getting all the love
He didn't wear gloves, he was too hard core
May he rest in peace, we don't see him anymore
Lots of stories and old cliches
Small town girl tryin to make her way
She moved to the city, all she wanted was a job
Now she's underneath the desk tryin to move to the top
It won't stop cause the circle won't let it
Be careful what you wish for, you might get it
You know the cat got macked by the bees
He was messin with the honey and the mouse and the cheese
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
That's a dead man's hand
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
That's a dead man's hand
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
That's a dead man's hand
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
You could beat the system, you could beat your girl
But who ya gonna beat come the end of the world
Imagine everything you ever worked for, strived for
Suddenly becomin everything your gonna die for
Now what'd ya live for
Nothing anymore right
How could you live your whole life uptight
See everything you did and everything you seen
Rolled around in the mud, but you couldn't come clean
And that makes you dirty, now how does that feel
Living life like an open cut that won't heal
Sore at the world and you don't know why
You bounced like a ball and that's how you'll die
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
That's a dead man's hand
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
That's a dead man's hand
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
That's a dead man's hand
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
That's a dead man's hand
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
That's a dead man's hand
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
That's a dead man's hand
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
Ace's and eight's
song performed by by Uncle Kracker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Brains
Can't step in my way
Headfirst into love and dismay
It's like beating the dead
(I guess it's over then)
I can't stop going out on my head
Whatever this could be I'll never know
I never said it'd be the end all to be all
I hate you today
I can't find a way
Don't drag me down now
Goodbye
I've had enough frustration
I won't get stuck
Goodbye
This dead end situation
Is just not worth my time
It's no better today
I never thought it would end up this way
You've got something to say
(You've got something to say)
Don't want to hear if it gets in my way
(All) this confusion, wondering, so overwhelmed
(Halt) Disillusion seems so clear
(Can't) find your conclusion to support evolution
Not (all) things are what they appear
So what's the point of this hell
I know you too well
We're running backwards
Goodbye
I've had enough frustration
I won't get stuck
Goodbye
This dead end situation
Is just not worth my time
But waiting so frustrating
I'm so sick of
All this tension not to mention
I'm so sick of
Can't take it
We won't make it
Just save yourself this trouble
Can't take it quite for yourself
Cause I'm just fine
You speak for all of us when you can't be heard
(I can't help you any more than)
I bet you haven't listened to not one word
(I have helped myself before)
You speak for all of us when
(So sick of you, so sick of)
You can't be heard
(So sick of you, so sick of)
I bet you haven't listened
(So sick of you, so sick of)
To not one word
(So sick of you, so sick)-a
song performed by by Sum 41
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Dead, All Dead
Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I Think Of Myself As Dead
WHEN I THINK OF MYSELF AS DEAD
When I think of myself as dead
I think of what it will mean for my loved ones
I pray they will not lose heart and hope because of it-
When my father died my brother lost hope-
When I think of myself dead
I wonder about God and God�s purpose
Is there really an afterlife?
What could it mean?
Will I meet again those who have gone before me?
When I think of myself dead
I think about a body in the ground
Worms eating it, cold paining it-
When I think of myself as dead
I think about never feeling anything again-
When I think about myself as dead
I think about the work I have left behind
And whether it will mean anything to anyone
And for how long-
When I think of myself as dead
I think of all the memories that will go with me
I think about nothing and more nothing and the end of the universe-
When I think of myself as dead
I think of life going on down below
Life with all its beauty and pain
And I pray and I pray again
My loved ones will be able to manage and make their own lives still happy
When I think of myself as dead
I pray to G-d
That somehow in some way
It will not be the end for me forever.
When I think of myself as dead
I think of myself as living again somehow
In a way I cannot now know-
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forever Starts at the End (A Sonnet)
Eternal life will start in my late last.
But who knows death began ere I was born?
A christian needs to die, as it's a must,
Before he could have seen the coming morn.
The day I went out from my mother's womb,
Is just as my death anniversary.
A dead child risen from a woman's tomb,
And breathing dust that lives for vanity.
I'm now alive but died with Him; and then,
Will die to live a life, and will not die
Again of death that doubled-killed the men
Born dead, although, alive, yet passers-by...
The residents of deathless fire where dwell
Those who died dead to die a death in Hell.
poem by Ray Remalig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Death of a Raven
As I was taking a tour today
I saw a raven lying dead by the side of a bank
He lay there lone, cold, dead
Nobody to bury, cremate, or carry him away
I felt sad
I felt life is so sudden, so short
A couple of ravens kept circling the dead
They tried to tell me something of the raven dead
But I couldn't understand them
Because I don't know as how to interpret the language of the raven
The raven lay dead by the pavement of the bank
He lay sideways
His feet up
His dead beak closed and dead
I felt a sudden rush of hopelessness, a sudden rush of undefined pain
I didn't stop there to mourn the raven's death
I ran away as fast my legs would pace
The raven is dead
Everything around him goes as usual
Life is a continuous process
Time, tide, space flows on their own pace
Nobody notices the death of the raven
Except me
My soul saddens by the death of the unknown raven
The sky is dark and cloudy
It threatens rain
A few drops dropp here and there to make the scorched ground a little
wet
I cry for the dead raven
Please spare a pray for the dead raven
poem by Ujjol Kamal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A PÆan
How shall the burial rite be read?
The solemn song be sung ?
The requiem for the loveliest dead,
That ever died so young?
II.
Her friends are gazing on her,
And on her gaudy bier,
And weep ! - oh! to dishonor
Dead beauty with a tear!
III.
They loved her for her wealth -
And they hated her for her pride -
But she grew in feeble health,
And they love her - that she died.
IV.
They tell me (while they speak
Of her 'costly broider'd pall')
That my voice is growing weak -
That I should not sing at all -
V.
Or that my tone should be
Tun'd to such solemn song
So mournfully - so mournfully,
That the dead may feel no wrong.
VI.
But she is gone above,
With young Hope at her side,
And I am drunk with love
Of the dead, who is my bride. -
VII.
Of the dead - dead who lies
All perfum'd there,
With the death upon her eyes,
And the life upon her hair.
VIII.
Thus on the coffin loud and long
I strike - the murmur sent
Through the grey chambers to my song,
Shall be the accompaniment.
IX.
Thou died'st in thy life's June -
But thou did'st not die too fair:
Thou did'st not die too soon,
Nor with too calm an air.
X.
From more than fiends on earth,
Thy life and love are riven,
To join the untainted mirth
Of more than thrones in heaven -
XII.
Therefore, to thee this night
I will no requiem raise,
But waft thee on thy flight,
With a Pæan of old days.
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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The Mourners
I look into the aching womb of night;
I look across the mist that masks the dead;
The moon is tired and gives but little light,
The stars have gone to bed.
The earth is sick and seems to breathe with pain;
A lost wind whimpers in a mangled tree;
I do not see the foul, corpse-cluttered plain,
The dead I do not see.
The slain I would not see . . . and so I lift
My eyes from out the shambles where they lie;
When lo! a million woman-faces drift
Like pale leaves through the sky.
The cheeks of some are channelled deep with tears;
But some are tearless, with wild eyes that stare
Into the shadow of the coming years
Of fathomless despair.
And some are young, and some are very old;
And some are rich, some poor beyond belief;
Yet all are strangely like, set in the mould
Of everlasting grief.
They fill the vast of Heaven, face on face;
And then I see one weeping with the rest,
Whose eyes beseech me for a moment's space. . . .
Oh eyes I love the best!
Nay, I but dream. The sky is all forlorn,
And there's the plain of battle writhing red:
God pity them, the women-folk who mourn!
How happy are the dead!
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lord May I Come?
Life and night are falling from me,
Death and day are opening on me,
Wherever my footsteps come and go,
Life is a stony way of woe.
Lord, have I long to go?
Hallow hearts are ever near me,
Soulless eyes have ceased to cheer me:
Lord may I come to thee?
Life and youth and summer weather
To my heart no joy can gather.
Lord, lift me from life’s stony way!
Loved eyes long closed in death watch for me:
Holy death is waiting for me –
Lord, may I come to-day?
My outward life feels sad and still
Like lilies in a frozen rill;
I am gazing upwards to the sun,
Lord, Lord, remembering my lost one.
O Lord, remember me!
How is it in the unknown land?
Do the dead wander hand in hand?
God, give me trust in thee.
Do we clasp dead hands and quiver
With an endless joy for ever?
Do tall white angels gaze and wend
Along the banks where lilies bend?
Lord, we know not how this may be:
Good Lord we put our faith in thee –
O God, remember me.
poem by Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wake Up Dead
I sneak in my own house
Its four in the morning
I had too much to drink
Said I was out with the boys
I creep in my bedroom
I slip into bed,
I know if I wake her,
Ill wake up dead
Chorus:
I wonder, will she find out,
About the other, other lover.
Diana.
Wake up dead, you die
Wake up dead, and buried.
Wake up dead, you die
Wake up dead.
song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dead To The Living
Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,
She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!
And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!
Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'
'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Blind Rower
And since he rowed his father home,
His hand has never touched an oar.
All day he wanders on the shore,
And hearkens to the swishing foam.
Though blind from birth, he still could row
As well as any lad with sight;
And knew strange things that none may know
Save those who live without the light.
When they put out that Summer eve
To sink the lobster-pots at sea,
The sun was crimson in the sky;
And not a breath was in the sky;
The brooding, thunder-laden sky,
That, heavily and wearily,
Weighed down upon the waveless sea
That scarcely seamed to heave.
The pots were safely sunk; and then
The father gave the word for home:
He took the tiller in his hand,
And, in hi s heart already home,
He brought her nose round towards the land,
To steer her straight for home.
He never spoke,
Nor stirred again:
A sudden stroke,
And he lay dead,
With staring eyes, and lips off lead.
The son rowed on, and nothing feared:
And sometimes, merrily,
He lifted up his voice, and sang,
Both high and low,
And loud and sweet:
For he was ever gay at sea,
And ever glad to row,
And rowed as only blind men row:
And little did the blind lad know
That death was at his feet:
For still he thought his father steered;
Nor knew that he was all alone
With death upon the open sea.
So merrily, he rowed, and sang:
And, strangely on the silence rang
That lonely melody,
As, through the livid, brooding gloam,
By rock and reef, he rowed for home--
The blind man rowed the dead man home.
But, as they neared the shore,
He rested on his oar:
And, wondering that his father kept
So very quiet in the stern,
He laughed, and asked him if he slept;
And vowed he heard him snore just now.
Though, when his father spoke no word,
A sudden fear upon him came:
And, crying on his father's name,
With flinching heart, he heard
The water lapping on the shore;
And all his blood ran cold, to feel
The shingle grate beneath the keel:
And stretching over towards the stern,
His knuckle touched the dead man's brow.
But help was near at hand;
And safe he came to land:
Though none has ever known
How he rowed in, alone,
And never touched a reef.
Some say they saw the dead man steer--
The dead man steer the blind man home--
Though, when they found him dead,
His hand was cold as lead.
So, ever restless, to and fro,
In every sort of weather,
The blind lad wanders on the shore,
And hearkens to the foam.
His hand has never touched an oar,
Since they came home together--
The blind, who rowed his father home--
The dear, who steered his blind son home.
poem by Wilfred Wilson Gibson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Over The Dead Body
Don’t fight over the dead body
Grudge and ego of people left behind
Could raise the worst world war
Don’t scared over the dead body
Silence and stillness of living human
Is more frightening than the ghost
Don’t keep mourning over the dead body
Sadness and lost of the one we love
Will be replaced by forever peace
Don’t worship over the dead body
Dreams could only be real and achieved
If we open our eyes to the world
Don’t disrespect over the dead body
It once belonged to precious life
Though the evidence corpse severely decayed
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dead End
Well easily with me I show affection,
But it's a creepin up, a creepin up on me in another direction
I love, I write, and I die
And I try to ask no questions,
But the weary one is still me,
Do you think its obsession?
The smoke will find you a choker that matches your coat, not fit to be tied
The mirror it makes it all clearer as you stand alone and cant see your behind
Yea
They tried to tell me I could say that nobody could believe this
Well they tried to tell me I could say nobody could achieve this
The way you stayed of, locked away of
Keeping the flame for yourself,
The way you stayed of, pushin the blame of, reaping the fame for yourself
Oh well, it's a, it's a, dead end
It's a dead end
Oh, it's a dead end lonely day,
Say it's a dead end
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a, it's a dead end day
It's a dead end oh day
And it's a long way, a long way down,
Hey well it's a long way, a long way down
Change is coming a baby,
Don't be startled lady
Every once in a while they do it again
You gonna shake it, shake it,
You know you wanna take it
Back to where you once belonged,
Back beneath the sheets and between the pillow cases
And the snake he races out and he, he tangles into your hair
Funny the fruits you choose
Oh the time you take, the words you loose
And it all goes back to rotation over the back of your hand
Oh the back of your hand, oh the back of your hand
Oh the map is your hand,
it's the back of your hand, the back of your hand
say the back of your hand, oh the map is your hand, it's the back of your hand
stop whining all the time,
don't you find a little secret to yourself always saved your life,
stop listening to the words that you've heard
no one else but yourself will agree with you more
that it's a long, long way
it's a long, long way
and it's a long, long way, a long way down
hey, and it's a long way down,
and it's a lo- oh- oh- ng way down
hey, hey, hey, and it's a long, long, long, long way down,
say say, SCATS
and it's a lo- oh- oh- ng way down, hey and it's a long way dooooown
it's a dead end
it's a dead end oh
it's a dead end lonely day
it's a, it's a dead end
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a, it's a dead end day
It's a dead end oh day
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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