If those communities are left to decay, this city will decay.
quote by Jane Byrne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Truly, Truly, This Is The End
They say deaths an open door
Into another room
Within the city of the dead
(Our New Kingdom)
They say we walk like dreams
Sharing the same breath
Seeing through the same eyes
(A collective spirit)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
They say the Earth it gives no peace
Nor does it take away
We all survive the grave
(Unfortunate eternal)
They say that in times past
A king walked in the sky
Until dethroned by man
(Tribe of Judas)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
This is the end
song performed by by Zao
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Judgment Of England
"Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey
Where Wealth accumulates and Men decay."
So rang of old the noble voice in vain
O'er the Last Peasants wandering on the plain,
Doom has reversed the riddle and the rhyme,
While sinks the commerce reared upon that crime,
The thriftless towns litter with lives undone,
To whom our madness left no joy but one;
And irony that glares like Judgment Day
Sees Men accumulate and Wealth decay.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Song From The Wandering Jew
See yon opening flower
Spreads its fragrance to the blast;
It fades within an hour,
Its decay is pale--is fast.
Paler is yon maiden;
Faster is her heart's decay;
Deep with sorrow laden,
She sinks in death away.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Judgement of England
'Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey
Where Wealth accumulates and Men decay.'
So rang of old the noble voice in vain
O'er the Last Peasants wandering on the plain,
Doom has reversed the riddle and the rhyme,
While sinks the commerce reared upon that crime,
The thriftless towns litter with lives undone,
To whom our madness left no joy but one;
And irony that glares like Judgment Day
Sees Men accumulate and Wealth decay.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The failure of the mind in old age is often less the results of natural decay, than of disuse. Ambition has ceased to operate; contentment bring indolence, and indolence decay of mental power, ennui, and sometimes death. Men have been known to die, literally speaking, of disease induced by intellectual vacancy.
quote by B. Brodie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Knit culture
She’s my wife and they, my kids, people say.
Their growth and decay is mine, they judge.
I’m her spouse and kids’ father to the mass.
My growth and decay has bearing on them.
I serve for their up and they stand by me,
Thanks to the survival of knit culture.
26.09.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All satire is blind to the forces liberated by decay. Which is why total decay has absorbed the forces of satire.
quote by Theodor Adorno
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Man's Wish
If I live to be old, for I find I go down,
Let this be my fate: In a country town
May I have a warm house, with a stone at the gate,
And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate.
May I govern my passion with an absolute sway,
And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.
Near a shady grove, and a murmuring brook,
With the ocean at distance, whereupon I may look,
With a spacious plain without hedge or stile,
And an easy pad-nag to ride out a mile.
May I govern my passion with an absolute sway,
And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.
With Horace and Petrarch, and two or three more
Of the best wits that reign'd in the ages before,
With roast mutton, rather than ven'son or veal,
And clean though coarse linen at every meal.
May I govern my passion with an absolute sway,
And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.
With a pudding on Sundays, with stout humming liquor,
And remnants of Latin to welcome the vicar,
With Monte-Fiascone or Burgundy wine,
To drink the King's health as oft as I dine.
May I govern my passion with an absolute sway,
And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.
With a courage undaunted may I face my last day,
And when I am dead may the better sort say,
In the morning when sober, in the evening when mellow,
He's gone, and left not behind him his fellow.
May I govern my passion with an absolute sway,
And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Promises Unkept for friend Chad
The back streets of the city hide
a multitude of untold tales
The mean streets where the stench abides
of rancid dreams left to decay.
Far different from the countryside
the green hills and the pleasant vales.
Where simple country folk reside.
Fresh dreams emerging every day.
The city street may well decide
which man succeeds and which man fails.
The ebbing flowing surging tides
of little men who have no say.
The city fathers try to hide
(but their efforts are bound to fail.)
the city’s seamy underside.
Where petty criminals hold sway.
Some folks escape by suicide
and others fill the city’s jail.
There’s poverty on every side.
It seems the problems here to stay.
Here ideologies collide
But more is said than’s ever done.
The city has no cause for pride.
We’ve little choice but wait and pray.
The city fathers say they’ve tried
but I beg leave to doubt their word.
I’m totally unsatisfied
There’s jam tomorrow none today.
17/08/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Decay Lives
Behind the void - Where darkness fills black to give birth to the shade of grey - Fear is being stalked by Decay - Predatory sickness which morals onto nothing - Transfixed by the stench of the dead - Alive by feeding for millenium on death - Purer by the extreme conditioning where there is nowhere to find - If you do, you will find decay - Next to the living, alive in death - Alive by being dead.
poem by Unic Cjonr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Apple Tree Greed
he has an apple a green apple
he is the only person in this room
with a green apple
suppose suppose NOW
he has MORE of those at home
WHY he has a GREEN APPLE tree
In his backyard no WAIT
He has a vineyard behind his chapeau
And he makes green apple wine
And he sells it to the BOONES FARM people
And they make BOONES FARM green apple wine
And the whole city is soon sick
The children ralf and barf and ralf again
There is no more end to the men
Drinking all the green apple wine
To make this ONE person rich
He never offered me any of his wine
Eyes never drink of alcoholic beverage
Eye have juices and tea and a soda please
I'm just full of good intentions
Picking green apples in my mind and eating way too many
Having a green apple with mye lunch of poetical decay
WAIT he left and YES he took the green apple core with him
Not leaving me a bite not wanting me to taste the pleasure
of his mite. Why eye understand him greedy is his name
the green apple hoarder has so many apples now his wine cellar is so full and his larders aer so rich he does save the stems and seeds to plant again in ground so rich and he chews on this green apple while he watches MTV in selfish hedonistacal revenge while eye have no green apple stuck between my teeth OH bliss oh strang decay my teeth at least aer happier today he took the core away he left me all alone im appleless today im happier to say no song is being sung of little apples of the green variety been hung oh see the tree how big its grown the apples have been lost too long and they fall in misery from branches of decay to rot to rot to rot upon the vineyard floor there is no apple wine no more the green variety is gone they drink it only read and red is the color of the wine in cups so full of color there in plates so heaped of agony with applesauces vailiantly piled higher then the sky.
poem by Parme Hice
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Teenage Angst
Shine the headlight, straight into my eyes.
Like the roadkill, Im paralysed.
You see through my disguise
At the drive-in, double feature,
Pull the lever, break the fever
And say your last goodbyes.
Since I was born I started to decay.
Now nothing ever ever goes my way
One fluid gesture, like stepping back in time.
Trapped in amber, petrified.
And still not satisfied
Airs and social graces, elocution so divine.
Ill stick to my needle, and my favourite waste of time,
Both spineless and sublime.
Since I was born I started to decay.
Now nothing ever - ever goes my way.
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The End Complete
You will soon come with me to die,
And find that death is not the end.
Who I say, who will, who won't be freed.
Tell me that this is not the end complete.
Even as the end's complete.
Finding strenght in one's defeat.
Living in an endless score.
Killing me with battled sores.
I'm the one that's sent to kill,
Feeling all destructive will.
Bring forth one dead soul's decay,
The end's complete, it's the final day.
When the time has come to bare,
Dying young, fall to despair.
To bring forth one dead soul decay,
The end complete's the final day
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wind Doesn't Cry Mary
Tempests that howl over chimneypots
No words whispering Mary
Not a single name not a single verse in rhyme
That traffic light didn't turn blue
The wind didn't say anything at all this time.
Another time, another age, the wind
Played with us but now its through
Now there is nothing left to murmur
The wind doesn't whisper Mary
The urban lights twinkle and glow
Wet dark streets decay and buildings grow
Bombs splatter and fields decay
But that for most of us is far, far away.
The wind doesn't whisper Mary
But its true, we are still staggering along
The road is long, the wind is strong
But doesn't whisper the words of that song
And the wind doesn't cry out
Mary
poem by Rani Turton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Taught Myself to Live Simply
I taught myself to live simply and wisely,
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my superfluous worries.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I compose happy verses
about life's decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffy cat
licks my palm, purrs so sweetly
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Universal Law
O God!
You have made so many laws
in which there is no leakage
such as
Day after every night
Death after every birth
decay after every rise
May I ask you
Have you made any law
in reverse order
such as
Night after every day
birth after every death
rise after every decay
Not known if you have made
If you have made
you have changed
the potentiality state
so your every second
appears to be new.
I have not read
your total rules
but please make me
understand
your all rules.
poem by Ramesh Rai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Franticness
Wouldn't you know it?
After years of saying,
What was then occurring...
Comes to light and panics,
With such a franticness.
And all that disturbs has been there to see.
But many who were sleeping,
Chose to believe the decay would leave.
The same decay now that prevents them to breathe.
And wouldn't you know it?
After years of saying,
What was then occurring...
People have the nerve to question,
The accountability of those accused...
For not making them listen.
Even though they fought against,
Being awakened to pay attention!
'Excuse me?
And 'why' is it too late to play catch up?
I demand a full explanation!
I KNOW my rights.
And I will stay where I am,
Until I am satisfied my way of life returns.'
Just to ensure we are on the same page.
Are you familiar with the definition of crazed?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love, Dearest Lady, Such As I Would Speak
Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak,
Lives not within the humor of the eye;—
Not being but an outward phantasy,
That skims the surface of a tinted cheek,—
Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak,
As if the rose made summer,—and so lie
Amongst the perishable things that die,
Unlike the love which I would give and seek:
Whose health is of no hue—to feel decay
With cheeks' decay, that have a rosy prime.
Love is its own great loveliness alway,
And takes new lustre from the touch of time;
Its bough owns no December and no May,
But bears its blossom into Winter's clime.
poem by Thomas Hood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Burdend Black Rose
It's twisted I know
But true
I can only feel love when i'm dreaming it through
While this rose that burdens me
is lying on my chest
I watch as people stare at my lonliness
I sit up stunned as they walk past
Growing fear inside
The red rose wilts as the black rose blooms
Please come back
turn what was once red back again
Take awat this hate that stays,
As the black rose waits in silentness,
as I decay beneath it's beauty,
I need love but I can't feel it,
Won't except it,
I need to open up but the black rose holdsme still
love is what i'll never get,
I know it's twisted but true I can only feel love whrn i'm dreaming it through
The black rose burdens me
until I decay,
\then the black rose turns back to red
to reap me once again
another time left once more among the dead.
poem by Amy Ormonde
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Earth's Eternity
Man, Earth's poor shadow! talks of Earth's decay:
But hath it nothing of eternal kin?
No majesty that shall not pass away?
No soul of greatness springing up within?
Thought marks without hoar shadows of sublime,
Pictures of power, which if not doomed to win
Eternity, stand laughing at old Time
For ages: in the grand ancestral line
Of things eternal, mounting to divine,
I read Magnificence where ages pay
Worship like conquered foes to the Apennine,
Because they could not conquer. There sits Day
Too high for Night to come at--mountains shine,
Outpeering Time, too lofty for decay.
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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