One sword keeps another in the sheath.
quote by George Herbert
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lay His Sword By His Side
Lay his sword by his side -- it hath served him too well
Not to rest near his pillow below;
To the last moment true, from his hand ere it fell,
Its point was still turn'd to a flying foe.
Fellow-labourers in life, let them slumber in death,
Side by side, as becomes the reposing brave --
That sword which he loved still unbroke in its sheath,
And himself unsubdued in his grave.
Yet pause -- for, in fancy, a still voice I hear,
As if breathed from his brave heart's remains; --
Faint echo of that which, in Slavery's ear,
Once sounded the war-word, "Burst your chains."
And it cries, from the grave where the hero lies deep,
"Though the day of your Chieftain for ever hath set,
Oh leave not his sword thus inglorious to sleep --
It hath victory's life in it yet!
"Should some alien, unworthy such weapon to wield,
Dare to touch thee, my own gallant sword,
Then rest in thy sheath, like a talisman seal'd,
Or return to the grave of thy chainless lord.
But, if grasp'd by a hand that hath learn'd the proud use
Of a falchion, like thee, on the battle-plain,
Then, at Liberty's summons, like lightning let loose,
Leap forth from thy dark sheath again!"
poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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About the repentance
I am cheerful for what I’ve done
But more so for what I haven’t.
I am painful for what I’ve made
But more so for what I haven’t.
I am thankful for what I’ve got
But more so for what I haven’t.
I am shameful for what I’ve done
But more so for what I haven’t.
To rinse the sword won’t plug the blood;
To sheath the sword won’t heal the wound;
To break the sword won’t undo the wound.
Repentance is a selfish act
With no alternatives yet found.
06.05.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Serenade
I watch Inesilla
Thy window beneath,
Deep slumbers the villa
In night's dusky sheath.
Enamoured I linger,
Close mantled, for thee--
With sword and with guitar,
O look once on me!
Art sleeping? Wilt wake thee
Guitar tones so light?
The argus-eyed greybeard
My swift sword shall smite.
The ladder of ropes
Throw me fearlessly now!
Dost falter? Hast thou, Sweet,
Been false to thy vow?
I watch Inesilla
Thy window beneath,
Deep slumbers the villa
In night's dusky sheath!
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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When the sword of rebellion is drawn, the sheath should be thrown away.
For the sword outwears its sheath, and the soul wears out the breast, and the heart must pause for breath, and love itself have rest.
Abas
Did i not see you in the garden of love yesterday? !
For the cock crowed last night and i remembered you;
But you denied me before your people.
Pilate was there like a pirate!
And he told you much about me;
But put your sword back into the sheath! !
For Abas my friend will be here tonight on a visit.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Intelligence, Or Wisdom?
intelligence measured...
test tubes, or degrees,
black robes, dialogue,
swords arrogant drawn...
wisdom though,
validated by experience,
cannot be measured,
but knows enough to
keep the sword in the sheath!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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No Fault
Hold, told, bold, gold, cold, fold, sold;
They made a fire of coals for it was cold!
Coal, foal, goal;
I've found no fault in you!
But put your sword back in its own sheath.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sword Of Mine
The Sword that I carry
Though made not of iron or steel,
It is a mighty sword
That I proudly do so wield.
Though it wont break the skin
Or combat the weapons of a foe
But this is a mighty sword of mine
More precious than silver or gold.
This sword that I carry
I proudly display it in my hand,
For I know this sword of mine
Is greater, than any other mans.
It comforts me when I am tired
It will warm me when I am cold
It will lie down beside of me
To protect, and strengthen my soul.
The sword that I hold
Is tattered, and so very worn
It has been a friend along side of me,
In the sunshine and many storms.
It has shown me a path to follow
And has lit the road that I walk,
And those nights when I was alone and scared
Then to me, I could hear it talk.
The sword that I wield
Though may be different, in shape or size,
But it is the same sword
Which for years has cushioned the souls cry.
It has been here since the dawn of time
And will be here when the great walls fall,
And then when all men of war and hate reflect,
My sword, will be the mightiest sword of all.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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So We'll Go No More A-Roving
So we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And Love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.
poem by Byron (1817)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Song
Tho' veiled in spires of myrtle-wreath,
Love is a sword that cuts its sheath,
And thro' the clefts, itself has made,
We spy the flashes of the Blade !
But thro' the clefts, itself has made,
We likewise see Love's flashing blade,
By rust consumed or snapt in twain :
And only Hilt and Stump remain.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Confusion
Its been so long since we last met,
the forest floor has become our home,
How can we live when our blood's been let,
and is just another chapter in Love's tome?
Is this really what is left,
of old feathers that have been shed?
My heart has been part of the theft,
you've left me dying upon my bed.
What am I, a substitution?
I will be no part of your solution.
I will not give in to the illusion,
nor wrap myself in your confusion.
Don't cry for help,
for I'll watch you burn,
I'll hear your yelp,
and keep not your urn.
To me do you now turn?
Waste not your time little leaf,
though for me you now yearn.
Put your sword in its sheath,
and let my coffin alone.
poem by Soren Valentine
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Words Which Rails
Tell the stories to the ones, in fairies they do believe, sound to the fallen swan - Sword your tongue, sheath your mouth, lips blackend with blisters - The rain will distort to a drought, before the final flood - The clouds will circle, gathering the forces of nature - Never to be the chain, bound to exotic, as we walk as creatures - Words which rails to the end of a tail, will be the storm - Versa to the vice of the forbidden gale, will burn peace, into the flames of the begining
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Go No More A-Roving
So well go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul outwears the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet well go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thomas Middleton: IX
A WILD MOON riding high from cloud to cloud,
That sees and sees not, glimmering far beneath,
Hell’s children revel along the shuddering heath
With dirge-like mirth and raiment like a shroud:
A worse fair face than witchcraft’s, passion-proud,
With brows blood-flecked behind their bridal wreath
And lips that bade the assassin’s sword find sheath
Deep in the heart whereto love’s heart was vowed:
A game of close contentious crafts and creeds
Played till white England bring black Spain to shame:
A son’s bright sword and brighter soul, whose deeds
High conscience lights for mother’s love and fame:
Pure gipsy flowers, and poisonous courtly weeds:
Such tokens and such trophies crown thy name.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet- the Condom
Thanks to the latex-sheath that man has made!
His sex remains safer, quite natural;
But human STD’s can never fade;
Condoms are messy, costly and mural.
Through circumcision, man removes ‘fore-skin’!
And mutilates the female genitals!
And machines vend condoms to kith and kin;
As though it can protect all guys and gals.
Is not the condom unphysiological?
And youngsters blow it up like a balloon!
Who cares if it gives way, illogical?
Man says ’tis not a bane; it is a boon.
The latex sheath has helped adultery;
And keeps the fleshy trade going merry!
poem by John Celes
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Tamed
It is but she who loves without the fear
Haunting the past of each tomorrow
Destiny shown in the heart of every tear
Naught can prevent the nearing sorrow
A beating heart longs for such pain
As to draw a sword from one’s sheath
Wisdom shall prevail in this hidden stain
For here truth will rise from beneath
Blooming lust knows not my name
Destiny falls upon my beating breast
Wisdom to such desire shall tame
As love, and life, will be my jest
poem by Zoe Elsworth
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He Entered Into Battle With A Blunt Edged Sword
He entered into battle with a blunt edged sword,
But he did not know quite why.
His sword selection was done without motive,
To battle and kill his fellow man.
So subconsciously he picked out this sword.
This sword not of this world, not out to cut to bleed.
But this innocent man didn't wish to realize,
What prize he would pay.
In midst of this battle, recieving the swiftest,
Blows from his enemy,
This soldier just kept getting hurt.
Five, six and seven more blows made him hit back,
This soldier proudly used his blunt sword,
Till his nemesis bearing a razor sharp one,
Came along and challenged the already fallen one,
Who gave a swift plunge into his enemy's heart.
But the enemy did not stagger or fall.
Neither did the soldier with the blunt sword.
This soldier's enemy left the battleground,
When he saw that the one with the blunt sword,
Knew all along the possibility of his death.
Still he fought, so he himself could die,
Which the other soldier was saddened by that man's stance.
He told that man, 'if we all fought battles with a blunt
sword,
Then we would all truly win,
For the battleground would know no mortality.
He further told him, 'because of you, your side
Truly wins. But so does our.
We love you,
Blunt edged sword soldier man.'
poem by Vera Sidhwa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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