Song Of The Final Meeting
My breast grew helplessly cold,
But my steps were light.
I pulled the glove from my left hand
Mistakenly onto my right.
It seemed there were so many steps,
But I knew there were only three!
Amidst the maples an autumn whisper
Pleaded: 'Die with me!
I'm led astray by evil
Fate, so black and so untrue.'
I answered: 'I, too, dear one!
I, too, will die with you…'
This is a song of the final meeting.
I glanced at the house's dark frame.
Only bedroom candles burning
With an indifferent yellow flame.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Related quotes
Stair Case
You may have trodden
A lot of steps and
Read a lot of books
On the life of
A stair case
But when I move up
You step down
When I step up
You move down
The twist of fate,
At a point of time
We never reach
The meeting point
The blissful touch of love
And the soft kiss of peace
We catch
the stages
one by one
after we both left,
We drift away …
The source of conflict
The cause of friction,
When I fall in love
And you rise to hate
Or vice versa
The same face
Of the same idea
The sorry state of fate
Those steps
We both cross
One by one
When you and I left,
Though both of us
We eager to have a
Hand shake on
The differences
On the meeting point
By doing a balancing act
We just need to slow down
A bit of our moves
The centre is waiting
To hold us tight
In longer hug of love
With soft kiss on the lips of peace
poem by Abdul Wahab
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A Memory Of Love
I came upon a house so bare.
I knew there could be no one there.
I wished to enter so I knocked.
No one answered. The door was locked.
I saw a window through which I peered
and saw it looked just as I feared,
lonely, deserted, cold and musty
cobwebs hanging, everything dusty.
The need to go inside
was an urgency I could not hide.
Should I break the door or shatter the pane?
Encouragement came when I felt the rain.
I entered slowly and looked around
amazed and astounded at what I found.
Every room was empty but for one,
a bedroom with chair facing towards sun.
Beside the chair was a frame
holding the picture of a girl with no name.
Curiosity got the best of me
so I turned it over and I did see
her name scribbled hastily.
'Janette, my love I give to you
this picture I love to sit and view.'
and then I placed it back.
The house was no longer cold to me
for it housed a loving memory.
I left it right beside the chair
as if the lover still was there.
Upon leaving the bedroom I closed the door
so it would stay as it was before.
My intrusion on this private place
as I exited left a smile on my face.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Morning Thoughts
What secret hand at morning light,
By stealth unseals mine eye,
Draws back the curtain of the night,
And opens earth and sky?
'Tis Thine, my God - the same that kept
My resting hours from harm;
No ill came nigh me, for I slept
Beneath th' Almighty's arm.
'Tis Thine - my daily bread that brings,
Like manna scatter'd round,
And clothes me, as the lily springs
In beauty from the ground.
This is the hand that shaped my frame,
And gave me pulse to beat;
That bears me oft through flood and flame,
Through tempest, cold, and heat.
In death's dark valley though I stray,
'Twould there my steps attend;
Guide with the staff my lonely way,
And with the rod defend.
May that dear hand uphold me still,
Through life's uncertain race,
To bring me to Thine holy hill,
And to Thy dwelling-place.
poem by James Montgomery
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But Mostly In The Wrong Direction
day 1
took 1,473 steps today(or rather night) under the dark, weighted
sky, nearly stumbled but the cracks in the sidewalk
can't bring me down
day 34
love left me today(or rather morning)
7,893 steps say run, run, get away
and never come back
day 127
hope returned today(or rather afternoon)
and so did i
with 7,894 steps just to make up for leaving
day 542
walked today (was it morning or afternoon?)
do you know how the cold makes the sunset freeze in gold?
didn't count steps today
much better things to do
poem by Alexzia Ferdinand
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The Ottoman
At the foot of my parents bed was an ottoman,
it was old fashioned, but solid and sound.
My father said it had been locked for a reason,
to stop children from nosing around.
This unusual ottoman kind of haunted me
and I was curious to look inside.
One morning I found a key in the green house
and it looked like the ottoman’s size
Within minutes I was face to face with the ottoman,
the key turned the lock, so I took a peek.
A burning light shone at the bottom of a stairway;
so this was the secret my father wished to keep.
My burning curiosity had got the better of me,
so I lifted the lid wider and got inside.
Down the steps I ventured with caution,
my ears twitching, and eyes open wide.
The steps led down a narrow spiral staircase,
which met a corridor, with a door at the end.
Behind the creaky door was another corridor
and a wooden stairway which I did ascend.
This led me back up to the ottoman,
which was strange, but had to accept.
I decided to mull this over in my bedroom,
but someone was sleeping, so out there I crept.
I couldn’t believe it when I saw myself sleeping,
but then my father called me down for tea.
He and mum smiled, and dad ruffled my hair,
it was then that I came face to face with me.
I ran from the kitchen, up to my parent’s bedroom;
into the ottoman, and returned the way I came.
Everyone was sitting down for tea when I joined them
and dad knew, that I wouldn’t be disobeying him again.
poem by Orlando Belo
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House On Fire
She strides down 7th street
Smokey night - summer heat
Commotion - concrete fires
Where neon souls are burning
His whole life - a hung jury
She was the crime - Wheel's gonna pay
She's got blue steel; cocked and locked
She is Justice - Justice is burning
She's turning the tables upside down
She's like a flame; she's burning higher
She's like a house on fire - House on fire
Wheel feels lucky - drinkin' blind
One track mind - sheer distraction
Steps on cracks, breakin' backs
Nothin's sacred on the other side
He turns left - she turns right
They both step through the veil of night
Cold blue steel reflection
And Wheel's got nowhere to hide
She's turning the tables upside down
She's like a flame; she's burning higher
She's like a house on fire - House on fire
Players of passion playing with fire
Streetlights are flashing but who are they for
Fisted love fueling fantasy
Is love worth the fire he's asking for
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Steps
Two steps together
Our Myths says
Brings two souls together
Two steps together
Is the surround of
One’s life to another
Two steps together
Can bring the long path
Seeming so far away
To so close that
One can feel the step’s beat
In his own heart.
Two steps together
But,
Will life be just the path of two steps only?
Anyhow, any steps walking is incomplete
If it is not done in two steps
All begins by just two steps together….
poem by Kriti Krits
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Dancing The Tango
i give the initial steps forward and then
you compliment them with some steps backward
and with my left hand on your waist
putting even a slight pressure there
you notice the understandable push and you know
exactly where next to go
without me telling you
even in a whisper
we look up high in the ceiling with dignity
as i carry you
to the places that i want to go
my right hand holds yours
and sometimes i give the signals for the slowing of our steps
as though we are casually walking in the park
the audience look at us
amazed by the grace and
passion in our eyes...
very well like marriage, i said to myself
the fingers speak
the eyes understand
the body moves towards a common direction
the mouth simply listens
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Faithless Shadows.
The faithless shadows of day are running
And high and clear is the call of bells,
Steps of the church are blazed as with the lightning,
Their stones are alive and wait for your light steps.
You'll here pass and touch the chilly stone,
That's dressed in awful sanity of span,
And let the flower of spring be thrown
Here, in this dark, before the eyes of saint.
The rose shadows in misty darkness grow,
And high and clear is the call of bells,
The darkness lays on steps, such old and low --
I'm set in light -- I wait for dear steps.
poem by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok
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A Song
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear;
There is ever a something sings alway:
There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear,
And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray.
The sunshine showers across the grain,
And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree;
And in and out, when the eaves dip rain,
The swallows are twittering ceaselessly.
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
Be the skies above or dark or fair,
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear--
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear
There is ever a song somewhere!
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue:
The robin pipes when the sun is here,
And the cricket chirrups the whole night through.
The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow,
And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear;
But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow,
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
Be the skies above or dark or fair,
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear--
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear--
There is ever a song somewhere!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Sonnet – Amidst
Amidst pitch -black darkness, God shows a light;
Amidst a Forest thick, He shows a way;
Amidst black clouds, He brings a moonlit night;
Amidst sorrows, God gives a happy day.
Amidst the desert, Oasis God shows;
Amidst the stormy Sea, He brings calm;
Amidst much strife, He opens newer doors;
Amidst much hopelessness, a helping palm.
Amidst tempest, God shows a bright light-house;
Amidst the glaciers, much sought-after peak;
Amidst our solitude, He gives a spouse;
Amidst the ravines deep, the lost lamb meek.
Amidst the chaos, God ushers new hope,
Amidst the gloom, He gives the church a Pope.
poem by John Celes
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If I were a flower
If I were a flower my petals would be fading now,
drooping and withering in the early summer
but if by chance you glanced my way to warm me through,
watered my weakened frame to give me strength,
then I know I would survive to see the Autumn.
Strange that it should be this way for summer
lends itself to life and love and laughter.
Here in this hole where all is dark and pained
my laughter is muffled by the dank air.
No sunlight filters through, no light at all.
I'm cut off from friends and faces I once knew.
Hemmed in by physical inabilities,
dim eyes and ears that hear the nothingness.
The song of silence fills me so persistently,
I hum its tune, remembering life’s symphony.
If I were a flower my petals would be fading now,
drooping and withering in the early summer
but if by chance you glanced my way to warm me,
watered my weakened frame to give me strength,
then I believe your love would see me through.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Candles
The days of the future stand in front of us
Like a line of candles all alight----
Golden and warm and lively little candles.
The days that are past are left behind,
A mournful row of candles that are out;
The nearer ones are still smoking,
Candles cold, and melted, candles bent.,
I don’t want to see them; their shapes hurt me,
It hurts me to remember the light of them at first.
I look before me at my lighted candles,
I don’t want to turn around and see with horror
How quickly the dark line is lengthening,
How quickly the candles multiply that have been put out.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Inward Burning Fire
It's a dark path now - I don't know where it leads.
I only know you're not on it.
Insufficient light comes from the flame in my heart.
The fire you started.
This flame rages seeking fuel to burn and survive.
Give me some coal dust from your hair.
Just some green driftwood shavings from your eyes.
Your oaken wood hands warming mine - they're so cold now.
Better yet, an answering warmth
from the fire burning in your heart for mine.
Nothing serves to heal a dying flame as that meeting would.
But that's my fire seeking what will not be found on this path.
So, the flame turns inward to die out.
I hide the smoke.
It was always enough for you alone to know of this kindling within.
In the flame's death it must be secret still.
The fire consumes internally,
seeking out each memory hidden away.
Consuming every thought I ever had of you.
No one knows the fire's rage
until it turns to them and touches.
It will burn on inward
until it has devoured every memory, every feeling
with sustenance left in it.
It's a painful death,
but once the fire exists
it can only consume until it dies.
I know this science. I accept.
I accepted long ago.
The fire is so warm when first kindled.
Soon, I hope and fear,
only ash will be left.
The pain will be over.
I know I'll be cold but I'll rest.
As for now, while it's still burning,
I will make one vow.
I will save one tiny ember.
I will try to keep it warm and safe.
Just in case the path turns - and there you are.
And if a spark still remains within you too
this dear and dreaded fire can rise again.
Though more likely I know -
my little ember will serve only to remind me what warmth was
and burn my fingers.
poem by Meli Secret
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I get a kick out of watching a team defense me. A player moves two steps in one direction and I hit it two steps the other way. It goes right by his glove and I laugh.
Candles
i dreamt of candles
shimmering, dainty, romantic
....candles
all aglow lighting my path
melting away longingly
velvet ivory wax
licking the soft soles of my feet
...u came home to me
with diamonds and roses.
i dreamt of candles
ablaze, threating, ominous
....candles
all licking hungrily at my clothes
wanting to consume me
make me one with them
a charred cinder
.....u told me of her
with acerbic finality
i dreamt of candles
silent, suffering, perservering
....candles
all burning no longer a pretty yellow
just icy blue
plotting with precision
to set the stage on fire
....u called me repentent
i answered with laughter.
....'what goes around comes around'...
poem by Wardha Jawdat
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Red Frame/white Light
Red frame white light
Telephone box
Red on grey
Six three two three double o three
Red frame white light
You have a gray book
On a metal shelf
Red frame white light
Numbered calls
Selected places
Red frame white light
Telephone calls
Black and white
Red frame white light
You have a yellow book
With averts
Red frame white light
There is a black lead to a dial and phone
Red frame white light
Six three two three double o three
song performed by by Omd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beauty of Fear
Hands dance along the wall,
Guiding oneself in the dark of night,
A whisper spoken causing to stall,
While she fought back the fright,
But a candle was left in her wake,
Leaving a small glowing friend,
As the cold made her body quake,
The light could no longer defend,
With a gasp and the click of a shoe,
The candle fell to the wooden floor,
Not knowing what she already knew,
She ran for the nearest door!
Steps calmly followed her in,
Only moonlight to cuddle her near,
Oh such a sweet, sweet grin,
What a true beauty of fear.
poem by Chyna Parker
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Hot Burning Flames
She left me almost burned out
I couldn't feel a thin'
A walkin' talkin' statue
Afraid to love again
She did everything to kill a flame
But a little spark got through
If she'd a got her way I'd be gone today
If it hadn't been for you
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burning flames
I'm alive with love because of you
When you came to light the fire you knew just what to bring
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burning flames
--- Instrumental ---
She thought she had me down and out
But at the count of nine
A livin' lovin' angel showed up just in time
She thought that I would surely die
Sometimes I wanted to
She had no doubt the fire was out
But she didn't count on you
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burning flames
I'm alive with love because of you
When you came to light the fire you knew just what to bring
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burning flames
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burning flames
I'm alive with love because of you
When you came to light the fire you knew just what to bring
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burnin' flames
You turned cold gray ashes into hot burnin' flames...
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Evil Is
Evil waits,
As silent as nothing,
Held in a frail wooden cage,
Waiting to be unleashed.
Evil is a shadow,
Dark and foreboding.
An anger,
Following in our footsteps.
Evil is a wound,
Raw and bleeding.
A deep cut,
Walking hand in hand with pain.
Evil is a blazing flame,
Burning and consuming.
A flicker of destruction,
Unpredictable.
Evil is a cracked image,
The reflection in a smashed mirror.
A twisted reflection,
Of ourselves.