En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Garden Shukkei-en

By way of a vanished bridge we cross this river
as a cloud of lifted snow would ascend a mountain.

She has always been afraid to come here.

It is the river she most
remembers, the living
and the dead both crying for help.

A world that allowed neither tears nor lamentation.

The matsu trees brush her hair as she passes
beneath them, as do the shining strands of barbed wire.

Where this lake is, there was a lake,
where these black pine grow, there grew black pine.

Where there is no teahouse I see a wooden teahouse
and the corpses of those who slept in it.

On the opposite bank of the Ota, a weeping willow
etches its memory of their faces into the water.

Where light touches the face, the character for heart is written.

She strokes a burnt trunk wrapped in straw:
I was weak and my skin hung from my fingertips like cloth

Do you think for a moment we were human beings to them?

She comes to the stone angel holding paper cranes.
Not an angel, but a woman where she once had been,
who walks through the garden Shukkei-en
calling the carp to the surface by clapping her hands.

Do Americans think of us?

So she began as we squatted over the toilets:
If you want, I'll tell you, but nothing I say will be enough.

We tried to dress our burns with vegetable oil.

Her hair is the white froth of rice rising up kettlesides, her mind also.
In the postwar years she thought deeply about how to live.

The common greeting dozo-yiroshku is please take care of me.
All hibakusha still alive were children then.

A cemetery seen from the air is a child's city.

I don't like this particular red flower because
it reminds me of a woman's brain crushed under a roof.

Perhaps my language is too precise, and therefore difficult to understand?

We have not, all these years, felt what you call happiness.
But at times, with good fortune, we experience something close.
As our life resembles life, and this garden the garden.
And in the silence surrounding what happened to us

it is the bell to awaken God that we've heard ringing.

poem by Carolyn Forché
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Secret of Light

I am sitting contented and alone in a little park near the Palazzo Scaligere in Verona, glimpsing the mists of early autumn as they shift and fade among the pines and city battlements on the hills above the river Adige.

The river has recovered from this morning's rainfall. It is now restoring to its shapely body its own secret light, a color of faintly cloudy green and pearl.

Directly in front of my bench, perhaps thirty yards away from me, there is a startling woman. Her hair is black as the inmost secret of light in a perfectly cut diamond, a perilous black, a secret light that must have been studied for many years before the anxious and disciplined craftsman could achieve the necessary balance between courage and skill to stroke the strange stone and take the one chance he would ever have to bring that secret to light.

While I was trying to compose the preceding sentence, the woman rose from her park bench and walked away. I am afraid her secret might never come to light in my lifetime. But my lifetime is not the only one. I will never see her again. I hope she brings some other man's secret face to light, as somebody brought mine. I am startled to discover that I am not afraid. I am free to give a blessing out of my silence into that woman's black hair. I trust her to go on living. I believe in her black hair, her diamond that is still asleep. I would close my eyes to daydream about her. But those silent companions who watch over me from the insides of my eyelids are too brilliant for me to meet face to face.

The very emptiness of the park bench in front of mine is what makes me happy. Somewhere else in Verona at just this moment, a woman is sitting or walking or standing still upright. Surely two careful and accurate hands, total strangers to me, measure the invisible idea of the secret vein in her hair. They are waiting patiently until they know what they alone can ever know: that time when her life will pause in mid-flight for a split second. The hands will touch her black hair very gently. A wind off the river Adige will flutter past her. She will turn around, smile a welcome, and place a flawless and fully formed Italian daybreak into the hands.

I don't have any idea what his face will look like. The light still hidden inside his body is no business of mine. I am happy enough to sit in this park alone now. I turn my own face toward the river Adige. A little wind flutters off the water and brushes past me and returns.

It is all right with me to know that my life is only one life. I feel like the light of the river Adige.

By this time, we are both an open secret.

Verona

poem by James Arlington Wright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Yes I Can

so they say that a man
cant live in this world
if he's wearing his heart on his sleeve
i can
and they say that a man
cant understand
what a woman needs when she cries
i can
i can
and i can see you standing
in the yard
tending the rosas in your garden
the sun is shining
through your cotton dress
and i will freeze this moment
here in time
i could live forever
in your garden
oh, yes
yes i can
the fool dosent know
what he's missin the most
its a ______ and a place to be in
here i am
how would i know
i could give up the ghost
and still hold all your dreams in my hand
here i am
here i am
and i can see you standing
in the yard
tending the rosas in your garden
the wind is blowing
through your golden hair
and i will freeze this moment
here in time
i could live forever
in your garden
oh, yes
yes i can
and i can see her standing
in the yard
tending the rosas in your garden
the sun is shining
through your cotton dress
and i will freeze this moment
here in time
i could live forever
in your garden
oh, yes
yes i can
and i can be your man
yes i can

song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Akon Angel

Akon angel
Is the only black angel that lives in heaven
The rest of the angels are white
And the white angels finally got used to akon angel
Of course the white angels were upset when they heard that a black angel
Was going to live with them
At first they felt outraged
But God had a talk with all the white angels
And told them that their behavior was unacceptable
Because heaven is for everybody and not only for whites
Also God explain to them that he made the people different colors
Because he wanted a spice in life
Akon Angel doesn't have anything against the white angels
But the white angels will ignore Akon angel and not say anything to him
Because they don't want to upset him
So they try topretend that the Akon angel doesn't exist
And that helps them to deal with it
AkonAngel looks after the garden in heaven because he loves to work in The garden and doesn't mind to get dirty
But the white angels don't like the garden at all
And they work inthe kitchen preparing their meals for the day
God is in charge of the laundry and the cleaning of heaven
Also God loves to clean and do the laundry

poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Rising

Cant see nothin in front of me
Cant see nothin coming up behind
I make my way through this darkness
I cant feel nothing but this chain that binds me
Lost track of how far Ive gone
How far Ive gone, how high Ive climbed
On my backs a sixty pound stone
On my shoulder a half mile of line
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
Left the house this morning
Bells ringing filled the air
Wearin the cross of my calling
On wheels of fire I come rollin down here
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
Li,li, li,li,li,li, li,li,li
Theres spirits above and behind me
Faces gone black, eyes burnin bright
May their precious blood bind me
Lord, as I stand before your fiery light
Li,li, li,li,li,li, li,li,li
I see you mary in the garden
In the garden of a thousand sighs
Theres holy pictures of our children
Dancin in a sky filled with light
May I feel your arms around me
May I feel your blood mix with mine
A dream of life comes to me
Like a catfish dancin on the end of my line
Sky of blackness and sorrow ( a dream of life)
Sky of love, sky of tears (a dream of life)
Sky of glory and sadness ( a dream of life)
Sky of mercy, sky of fear ( a dream of life)
Sky of memory and shadow ( a dream of life)
Your burnin wind fills my arms tonight
Sky of longing and emptiness (a dream of life)
Sky of fullness, sky of blessed life
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
Li,li, li,li,li,li, li,li,li

song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Woman From Tokyo

Fly into the rising sun,
Faces, smiling everyone
Yeah, she is a whole new tradition
I feel it in my heart
My woman from tokyo
She makes me see
My woman from tokyo
Shes so good to me
Talk about her like a queen
Dancing in a eastern dream
Yeah, she makes me feel like a river
That carries me away
My woman from tokyo
She makes me see
My woman from tokyo
Shes so good to me
But Im at home and I just dont belong ...
So far away from the garden we love
She is what moves in the soul of a dove
Soon I shall see just how black was my night
When were alone in her city of light
Rising from the neon gloom
Shining like a crazy moon
Yeah, she turns me on like a fire
I get high
My woman from tokyo
She makes me see
My woman from tokyo
Shes so good to me

song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Snow-White (Part 1)

Hers were the beautiful blue eyes and the black long hair,
She watched her blood dropp freezing to burn in the air.
Her pale lips were keeping the mark of her love's glow,
She wanted a child having the skin as white as the snow,

The hair as black as ebony and the lips as red as the blood.
That red on that white looked as beautiful as a flower bud.
She was sewing and watching the ebony of her window's frame.
An angel became visible in the air to tell her the child's name.

''Light up this love, my Lord, and give me this child of light
Unbearable is this pain of mine, light up my soul and my sight.''
Coming up the stairs, the king saw this and he told his queen,
'This white angel is the most beautiful creature I've ever seen! ''

The queen's heart used to be like a little book being unread,
But in front of her husband, it has become an open thread.
He tenderly kissed her, ''Your broken heart is no longer dead,
Because for Snow White on the snow your secret has bled.''

When she gave birth to her child, the sun rose to be so bright
And everything in the castle could be seen in the holy light,
But when the king came to see them, he heard only the sighs.
When he saw his dead queen, sad tears flooded his black eyes.

While he was living with his child being a lonely sad father,
The king thought to bring to little Snow White a new mother.
''Light up this life, my Lord, because I have only fears and sighs,
Change my fate, because I need a new morn in my sad eyes! ''

He married again, but the queen's heart was mercilessly beating.
She was like a dangerous snake and poisoned was her greeting.
Her sarcastic lips were always keeping the mark of her hatred,
Her powers were hidden, because for her the devil was sacred.

She kept her frozen air, although the snow was melting in Spring,
Her words could remain suspended in the air to freeze everything.
‘'Mirror, dear Mirror on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all?
‘'You, my queen, are fairest of all'', echoed the mirror in the hall.

The Snow White grew up becoming more beautiful than the queen,
The king told her, 'You're the most beautiful child I have ever seen! ''
When the mirror told the queen, ‘'You, my queen, are fair; it is true.
She added, ''Little Snow-White is still a thousand times fairer than you.''

The king started seriously to think of the passion they had known
‘Cause the queen's self-satisfaction and insensibility have grown.
He realized that it's a wretchedness to continue sharing their bed.
He wanted to open a dialog with her, but the words left all unsaid.

poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Memories

I remember my father’s garden
Roses grew in full bloom behind the maple tree
That has always been there, in my memory,
Its trunk seemed golden
Beneath the light of the moon and stars in the evening and
At dawn, it would capture the rays of the sun,
Turning copper beneath the shadows cast by the mountains;
I have always adored the nighttime hours-
The stars seemed magical to me, glistening within the darkness and
The moon brings me peace of mind, quietly sleeping,
As its gentle rays illuminated the sky, giving just enough light
So I could see the roses, trees and wildflowers that decorated my father’s garden.
My father passed away twenty years ago and
I can recall his love for nature and his passion for the silence of the evening hours-
So much like mine-so many memories have escaped me but
I can still hear his laughter ringing throughout the valley near our home,
And every time I look upward toward the moon at twilight,
I can nearly see his smile shining through its muted light-
As a gentle breeze would blow, rustling the leaves upon the trees-
It would remind me that my father’s soul is still alive-
I see his face in every rose and his hands grasping the branches on the trees-
And I have always believed that even though people die and
Though their bodies may never be seen again,
The love and recollection of their spirits remain
In the places that they so loved-
My father’s home was in his garden amongst the maple trees, roses and wildflowers, and
In my innermost thoughts, it is there where he remains- and
Every day and every night, when I walk amongst the trees and flowers
I can hear his voice calling my name and in my heart I know
He can still hear my voice and see my face, as in the light of the moon and stars-
We shall be bonded in spirit for an eternity.

Claudia Krizay

poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Homage To Life

It’s good to have chosen
A living home
And housed time
In a ceaseless heart
And seen my hands
Alight on the world,
As on an apple
In a little garden,
To have loved the earth,
The moon and the sun
Like old friends
Who have no equals,
And to have committed
The world to memory
Like a bright horseman
To his black steed,
To have given a face
To these words — woman, children,
And to have been a shore
For the wandering continents
And to have come upon the soul
With tiny strokes of the oars,
For it is scared away
By a brusque approach.
It is beautiful to have known
The shade under the leaves,
And to have felt age
Creep over the naked body,
And have accompanied pain
Of black blood in our veins,
And gilded its silence
With the star, Patience,
And to have all these words
Moving around in the head,
To choose the least beautiful of them
And let them have a ball,
To have felt life,
Hurried and ill loved,
And locked it up
In this poetry.

poem by Jules Supervielle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Heart of Gold (-for my mother)

I was not the person I appeared to be-
In your eyes, I was different.
Although you never told me-
In your spoken words, I was like all of the others-
So many times you had hurt me deeply,
Through your spoken words and through your eyes,
I could never do right-
The slap of your hand across my face
When I was none but a child of six, even before the words came out-
Told me I was a bad girl- I wept and you just walked past me.
Roses grew in my father’s garden, plentifully and beautifully, in the summertime,
Our home was a palace- my father was the king and you were the queen.
When flowers blossomed in the springtime and
Leaves changed colors in the autumn- snow would fall in the wintertime-
No matter the season, you were the one with the friendly smile and the life of the party-
We were the perfect family though I could almost say- though secretly- I hated you.
I was only fourteen years old when I broke down and they put me away-
I used to think that if you did love me, I never would have known.
The bird that could not fly and the child that did not grow up-
The young woman, who heard voices nobody else heard, saw sights no one else saw-
Everybody was a threat except for those who lived inside the world I had fabricated.
I was not the person I appeared to be- the act you forced me to put on-
To be like everybody else, I could never be.
I wept myself the night father told me how you cried every night I was locked inside
The world of my delusions and locked inside that place where
People like me were put away- and a month before you passed away,
I remember reading the words inscribed across the yellow lined paper-
That you had always loved me and I was the most important person in your life.
Through those written words, I could see the pain written across your face and
For the first time, the love you felt for me shone through your soulful brown eyes-
It was the ticking of the wall clock that made me understand, was
Keeping time and telling me that in just a short time you would be gone, and
To be departed from this world forever.
I am alone now and your ashes have been scattered at sea,
As had been your final wish and desire-
A woman who had lived a life of suffering and
Who was not there for me because she could not be, only because
She had been locked inside a world of her own despair,
A survivor of a life filled with tragedy and pain, but
Having grown, I can understand and hear the beating of a golden heart, and
Tears cried out of love for a child who had lost her sanity at an age so young-
I would remember more than
Flowers blossoming, leaves changing colors and snow falling,
Year after year, and the agony of growing up in a family I believed at the time
Did not care or understand-, but I would remember those precious words inscribed
Across yellow lined paper- then I would pick a flower and tuck it behind my ear,
Continue my journey through this life and always keep in mind as I listen,
In my fondest memory- the ocean’s waves lapping against the shore where
Your ashes were scattered twenty years past and
The beating of your golden heart…

Claudia Krizay

poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

You're my Angel

You're an Angel that nobody can see,
Still an Angel is what you are to me
An angel from heaven is what you are
In my sky you're definitely a heavenly star

You're an angel with beauty & grace
You're so kind & sweet,
you have an angel’s face
You have a pair of angel’s wings
Happiness and joy are just some things
That an angel can give

In my heart & mind is where you're living
You have hair as soft as the white clouds
A guardian angel is what I have gotten.
Your eyes are like sapphires that shine bright.
When everything is dark, you give me light.

You're an angel that gives me a reason to live,
You're an angel that teaches me to give.
You're an angel that teaches me the right things to say.
You're my angel & Ill always care.
You're my angel & you know Ill always be there.

poem by Dr Nihar Ranjan Ray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

U R My Angle

You're an Angel that nobody can see,
Still an Angel is what you are to me
An angel from heaven is what you are
In my sky you're definably a heavenly star

You're an angel with beauty & grace
You're kind & sweet, you have an angel face
You have very graceful angel wings
Happiness and joy are just some things
that an angel can give

In my heart & mind is where you're living
You have hair as soft as the white clouds
A guardian angel is what Ive gotten.
Your eyes are like sapphires that shine bright.
When everything is dark, you give me light.

You're an angel that gives me a reason to live,
You're an angel that teaches me to give.
You're an angel that teaches me the right things to say.
You're my angel & Ill always care.
You're my angel & you know Ill always be there.

poem by Ankur Garg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

0021 Under the bridge of time

Oui, c'est beaux, le jardin... at this time of year;
mais... for myself,
a little too overgrown – but Monsieur
prefers it that way… you see him down there
by the lily pond, the nymphées?

He’s nearly blind now, yet he’s out all day
and nearly every day. He draws life from the garden,
je crois; and though there are some who laugh
and say, his paintings are now
mere daubs, when I see them
and then go out into the garden,
there’s a truth there, beyond what we see…
what passes, what floats serene and unaffected...
what floats on time itself...

You may find this fanciful, but I’ve watched Monsieur
over the years: first he had the garden made,
when he could afford it, and the bridge and then the pool
that slows the river… then he painted the lilies which we planted,
floating on the water, all the colours
of sunshine as you see it through a prism…then he painted
the sunlight on the water… then
he seemed to paint the flow of the water
as it passed… and then he seemed to be painting
time itself, passing under the bridge
where we’re standing here, as if
outside time… and now,
qu’est-ce qu’on dit? I think
he’s painting the philosophy of time –
Monsieur Bergson le philosophe
agrees with me – in paint; perhaps
one might say, painting
the future of painting…

yet, the flow of time and death came first, they say:
Monsieur began to paint his water-lilies
after he had seen the photos of the solemn river
of corpses in the trenches
in that terrible war; even, it's said,
the same colours of the unburied dead who putrify
are the same colours that he sees
in the water-lilies...c'est étrange, n'est-ce-pas?
a sort of redemption in the painter's palette...
this, I feel, gives these pretty paintings
the vision that drives Monsieur
to find beauty in its opposite...

but it’s cooling now; Monsieur
likes to enjoy that glowing light of early evening,
the precious departing of the light…
the light of life itself...
I’ll fetch his rug…these artists seem to
lose themselves in what they see…
they don’t seem to notice passing time,
it’s as if they think they live where time is space;
or perhaps, time’s so precious for Monsieur
that he paints it running out…

but I mustn’t keep you, M’sieur Proust –
it was so kind of you to find the time
to visit, and you too, M’sieur Debussy –
it has been quite a day to remember, n’est-ce pas? …
and now for Monsieur’s rug…

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Wanting The Moon

Not the moon. A flower
on the other side of the water.

The water sweeps past in flood,
dragging a whole tree by the hair,

a barn, a bridge. The flower
sings on the far bank.

Not a flower, a bird calling
hidden among the darkest trees, music

over the water, making a silence
out of the brown folds of the river's cloak.

The moon. No, a young man walking
under the trees. There are lanterns

among the leaves.
Tender, wise, merry,

his face is awake with its own light,
I see it across the water as if close up.

A jester. The music rings from his bells,
gravely, a tune of sorrow,

I dance to it on my riverbank.

poem by Denise Levertov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Mountain Angel

Writer Dolly Parton
From Album Little Sparrow
Pretty as an angel from the day that she was born Skin as fair as Lily's hair,
as golden as the corn They knew that she was special from the moment she first
cried She was a mountain angel certified
She was her momma's baby, she was her daddy's pride
Good at home, at church and school, at everything she tried
Everybody's darlin' led a charmed and peaceful life
The perfect mountain angel 'til he arrived And ohh, she fell so deeply Ooh,
she couldn't stop She gave herself to him, milled it completely
He lifted her so high he let her drop
She gave up everything for him that mattered in her life
All the others that had loved her and she vowed to be his wife
She dreamed of bearing children in an ivy-covered house
The mountain angel's sunshine turned to clouds
The wicked handsome stranger left the way he came
Broke her heart and broke her mind She never was the same
They say he was the devil
That had come to steal her soul
She never loved another it was told
They say she had a baby
Some say that it had died
They it's just as well
As it had been the devil's child
They say good conquers evil
But here, evil won the prize
So the mountain angel took to the wild
And ooh, she couldn't take it
Years passed and she had long since lost her mind
She waited for him as her beauty faded
Her parents died from grief before their time
She tried to gather pieces of her life, they wouldn't fit
Beside the tiny grave deep in the woods is where she'd sit
Talking to the child, herself, to him, who knew for sure
Possessed they say by satan's insane lure
High a'top the mountain, for years they say she's seen
Looking down upon the town where she had once been queen
She'd sneak around the playground, watch the little children play
They'd see the crazy lady then run away
They say she roamed these hills for years, wearing not a stitch
The lovely mountain angel now thought to be a witch
She made those wailing mournful sounds
That you could hear for miles
Long after she laid down upon her baby's grave and died
And ooh, her ghost is callin'
She's waiting for the ones that she adored
Through spring and summer, fall when snow is fallin'
Her spirit roams these hills forever more The mountain angel's voices ever more
Oohh, oooo Oohh, oooo Oohh, oooo

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

My Angel

My angel is the one who looks over me
My angel is the who cares for me
My angel is the one who loves me
My angel has beautiful brown eyes
My angel has beautiful black hair
My angel will be there when I get hurt
My angel will be the one that is always on my mind
He is the angel that keeps me breathing
He is the angel of my dreams
He is the angel that keeps me alive
My angel will cheer me up when I’m sad
My angel will love me for me
He is my angel of my life

poem by Jessica Bousfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Visit to Orcha: A visual exploration

River and tree look on morning town
And on the bridge and men and women
With loads of firewood from the forest
A bare-bodied man has sun on face.
Off the bridge a wizened old man
With saffron cloth drying on river rocks
Bends exquisitely with age and beauty.
A woman in red bathes on the river bed.
In the distance is the bank and history’s spires
On the bank a woman pours water in river
From a steel pot in oblation, to the sun.
As the sun glistens on the shaken river
River beats rocks in soft steady rhythm.
Men stand on the river frozen in time
Joyful women hide on the river’s rim
Waiting to burst forth in celebration.
A holy man stands tall on the rocks
Drying a red loin cloth, his hair mat loose
A boy silhouette crouches near the holy man.
On the tall mound sits the crooked holy man
Against the brilliant morning sun, waiting
To be captured on somebody’s digital lens.

poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

In the Garden, With My Father

It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.

I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.

But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.

It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.

poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Unfolding!

listen!
in every voice
something familiar!
in every face
something that
reminds you...
in every flower
that blooms.
in every cloud,
in every leaf
blowing in the wind.
in every child
that's born...
in every old person
that you bury.
in every man
working with his hands.
in every woman
raising her children.
in every mountain
standing silent...
in every river
flowing free...

the song of living,
the dance of darkness
and light....
the universe unfolding
in your hands!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Wildflowers

The hills were alive with wildflowers
And I was as wild, even wilder than they
For at least I could run, they just died in the sun
And I refused to just wither in place
Just a wild mountain rose, needing freedom to grow
So I ran fearing not where Id go
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers dont care where they grow
And the flowers I knew in the fields where I grew
Were content to be lost in the crowd
They were common and close, I had no room for growth
I wanted so much to branch out
I uprooted myself from home ground and left
Took my dreams and I took to the road
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers dont care where they grow
I grew up fast and wild and I never felt right
In a garden so different from me
I just never belonged, I just longed to be gone
So the garden, one day, set me free
Hitched a ride with the wind and since he was my friend
I just let him decide where wed go
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers dont care where they grow
Repeat chorus

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Black Moon

Oh the devil is rising with the moon
He cries and my blood runs cold.
Oh no never was the darkness so black,
No light and nowhere to go.
My spirit is crying for a love
So tired of being alone.
I remember he came here to steal,
And you are his stealer of souls.
I see a black moon rising,
And its calling out my name.
Oh its calling my name.
Ive been blinded, lost and confused,
Darkness will call me no more.
Heaven is no friend of mine,
No God ever knocked on my door.
I see a black moon rising,
And its calling out my name.
Oh its calling my name.
Im standing on the dark side of time
Reaching for the power of her hand.
Shes weaving an unholy light
And calls from lucifers land.
I see a black moon rising,
And its calling out my name.
An angel of hell is rising,
Heavens no friend of mine.
I see a black moon rising,
And its calling out my name,
I see a black moon rising,
And it causes so much pain.
An angel of hell is rising,
Heavens no friend of mine.
I see a black moon rising,
And its calling out my name.
Its calling my name,
This spirits crying for love.
Heavens no friend of mine.

song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!