Pale Death beats equally at the poor man's gate and at the palaces of kings.
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Pale Death with impartial tread beats at the poor man's cottage door and at the palaces of kings.
Pale death knocks with impartial foot at poor men's hovels and king's palaces.
While civilization has been improving our houses, it has not equally improved the men who are to inhabit them. It has created palaces, but it was not so easy to create noblemen and kings.
quote by Henry David Thoreau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pale death, with impartial step, knocks at the hut of the poor and the towers of kings.
Mothers Night
Oh, people killing people
Kings to conquer kings
Always in the seeker
Taking the light
Away from me
Death comes to the seeker
And death comes to the fool
Death comes to us all one day
Let the river of time swim over you
Oh swim over you
Oh time swim over you
Mother fighting mother
Children killing kings and kings and children too
(help! I cant figure this one out!)
Playin a different tune
The music binds them ho
The music binds them all
The music binds them
(another line to figure out)
Stronger than the chain gang
Smarter than the song
Let the music bind them
Each my face inside here?
Teach my light to wear a different?
I have many parents
I have only one mother too
Of the open west you waitin
Sprung me onto you
Sprung me onto you
That sprung me onto you
I have many fathers
But only one mother
Sprung beyond emotion
That sprung me onto you
So I bring a word
So I bring a word here
So lights out away
Death comes to the seeker
Well death come to the fool yes he do
Death comes to us all one day
Sit back and let the river of time run over you
Oh mother make them...
Rhythm is the one I climb as
The heartbeat of the time is beating on us
Speaking of the time is beating on us
Snap up the gate shut on yourself
Snap up the gate shut on yourself
Snap up the gate shut on yourself
Snap up the gate shut on yourself
Snap up the gate shut on yourself
Snap up the gate shut on yourself
Oh yeah
Oh I was dreaming
Oh....?
Some people locked in cages
With the keys on the inside
With the keys on the inside
Ahhh well awww too bad... (dont know)
King to king oh many colors
Paing the songs that roll to smother everyone
Black as night oh black as night
(dont know...)
If you are in the corner
Locked in the shadow
Dont try to cast your shadow
On the bear upon you (dont know)
Just step out into the light
Yes and let the sun shine bright on you
Just step out into the light
Yes and let the sun shine bright on you
All these changes happen with changes
One day as a good king
One day as a bad king
All the same in time
Be your own king.
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Traces of my touch
I've pushed the borders
I left the stations
The trains are equally sad
The passengers equally busy
I've crossed the moonlight
I've swum the seas
The drops are equally wet
The depths are equally low
I've touched the treetops
I've opened the nests
The boughs are equally fragile
The root is equally deep
Nothing has changed
But the traces of my touch
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Senseless Death
Death is blind
Death is deaf
yet it is dumb
Death is senseless
Absolutely at that
So much so
To the kings door
It knocks upon
From a mother's womb
It feeds thereof
If death had a way
Heavens gate it will shake
The chains of hell
It will break
Searching a new soul to take
Senseless
As death may seem
Upon every soul
Still it sneaks
Taking from any
As it wills.
poem by Emeka chunye Okaforudeji
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Heroin
Death is a rider on a pale horse, Honey.
Yah roll up your sleeve and yah lay down your money.
Death is a rider on a pale horse.
A cord around your arm and the needle hunts your vein.
You'll starve in your dreams with the lotus in your brain.
Death is a rider on a pale horse.
There's blood in your eyes, and your time's not free.
Selling it like that will get yah HIV.
Death is a rider on a pale horse.
Death is a rider on a pale horse, Honey.
Yah roll up your sleeve and yah lay down your money.
Ya, death is a rider on a pale horse.
The shade of death
The shade of death is made of a canopy piercing cold
That mortal eyes ache and cannot comprehend or behold
Yet when mortal eyes are closed
And death, cold and pale the limbs reposed
Shall the disposed soul then wakes and roaming it seen
Asking: 'where are Eden's Golden keys? '
Some claim that grave is Heaven' gate
Where rich as poor, royal as commoner, all around it wait
A tale, a fairy, a feeble since old age told
Yet no one from there returned to this story enfold
Copy rights 2010
All rights reserved
To Them That Mourn
Lift up your heads: in life, in death,
God knoweth his head was high.
Quit we the coward's broken breath
Who watched a strong man die.
If we must say, 'No more his peer
Cometh; the flag is furled.'
Stand not too near him, lest he hear
That slander on the world.
The good green earth he loved and trod
Is still, with many a scar,
Writ in the chronicles of God,
A giant-bearing star.
He fell: but Britain's banner swings
Above his sunken crown.
Black death shall have his toll of kings
Before that cross goes down.
Once more shall move with mighty things
His house of ancient tale,
Where kings whose hands were kissed of kings
Went in: and came out pale.
O young ones of a darker day,
In art's wan colours clad,
Whose very love and hate are grey -
Whose very sin is sad.
Pass on: one agony long-drawn
Was merrier than your mirth,
When hand-in-hand came death and dawn,
And spring was on the earth.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Counting the Beats
You, love, and I,
(He whispers) you and I,
And if no more than only you and I
What care you or I ?
Counting the beats,
Counting the slow heart beats,
The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,
Wakeful they lie.
Cloudless day,
Night, and a cloudless day,
Yet the huge storm will burst upon their heads one day
From a bitter sky.
Where shall we be,
(She whispers) where shall we be,
When death strikes home, O where then shall we be
Who were you and I ?
Not there but here,
(He whispers) only here,
As we are, here, together, now and here,
Always you and I.
Counting the beats,
Counting the slow heart beats,
The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,
Wakeful they lie.
poem by Robert Graves
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Death, My Friend
Death, my friend - so good to see you!
Stand aloft and view my soul!
I have to say you’re looking frightful -
Bony chum, you affable ghoul.
Death, my friend, so charmed I’m sure!
State your case and tell me straight -
Am I worthy of reward, so
Venture I to Heaven’s Gate?
Death, my friend, a new acquaintance!
You're always welcome in my home -
Though the stare from empty sockets
Indicates to Hell we roam!
Death, my friend - my bosom buddy.
My! your finger points at me!
Be you tired of my frivolity?
Aha, I see - Oblivion, we!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death death death death death death
Death death death death death death
Death death death death death death
Death death death death death death
Death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death's Final Conquest
The glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate:
Death lays his icy hands on kings;
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon death's purple altar now,
See where the victor victim bleeds:
All heads must come
To the cold tomb,
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
poem by James Shirley
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From Ajax Dirge
The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings.
Scepter and crown
Must tumble down
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field
And plant fresh laurels where they kill,
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still.
Early or late
They stoop to fate
And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon death’s purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb;
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.
poem by James Shirley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death the Leveller
The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crookèd scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.
poem by James Shirley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Glories of our Blood and State
The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings.
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
But their strong nerves at last must yield,
They tame but one another still.
Early or late,
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon death's purple altar now,
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb;
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.
poem by James Shirley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Time
Times a teacher yesterday
You know I had nothing but time
Whyd you have to go away
I never got to tell you goodbye
And time beats up on me
Life is funny, life is strange
You know Im just trying to get by
Money, honey, buys you things
It cant buy a place in the sky
And time beats up on you
Another year disappeared
Where did it go?
People ask me
Whats the time
I really dont know
I really dont know
I really dont
I really dont know
And time beats up on you
And time beats up on you
Time beats up on
Time beats up on
Time beats up on
Time beats up on
Time beats up on me
Beats up on you
Beats up on you
song performed by by Fastball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There's a great tradition in storytelling that's thousands of years old, telling stories about kings and their palaces, and that's really what I wanted to do.
quote by Aaron Sorkin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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True Love And New love
OVER the meadow and down the lane
To the gate by the twisted thorn:
Your feet should know each turn of the way
You trod so many many a day,
Before the old love was put out of its pain,
Before the new love was born.
Kiss her, hold her and fold her close,
Tell her the old true tale:
You ought to know each turn of the phrase,--
You learned them all in the poor old days
Before the birth of the new red rose,
Before the old rose grew pale.
And do not fear I shall creep to-night
To make a third at your tryst:
My ghost, if it walked, would only wait
To scare the others away from the gate
Where you teach your new love the old delight,
With the lips that your old love kissed.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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This heart beats
This heart beats,
only cause of you
This heart beats,
just to know its true
This heart beats,
like a love i cant control
This heart beats,
to let everybody know
This heart beats,
when i see your smile
This heart beats,
just before i dial
This heart beats,
i hope you feel the same
This heart beats,
cause my heart is where i write your name
poem by Anonymous One
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