The Past
The Past is flowing through my thoughts—
Flowing like a sea;
With all its billows dancing bright
Over what?—an undermight
Of darkling loss and destiny.
Still it floweth through my thoughts—
Floweth like a sea;
While of worn hope I ask alway,
Like an unsought cast-astray—
What can the future bring to me?
And hope herself admits: To thee
But a darkening scene—
Only slow days of care and doubt,
Only a dreary lengthening out,
Of what this later past hath been.
poem by Charles Harpur
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Related quotes
They say that Hope is happiness
They say that Hope is happiness—
But genuine Love must prize the past;
And mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless
They rose the first—they set the last.
And all that mem'ry loves the most
Was once our only hope to be:
And all that hope adored and lost
Hath melted into memory.
Alas! it is delusion all—
The future cheats us from afar,
Nor can we be what we recall,
Nor dare we think on what we are.
poem by Byron (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Stanzas For Music: They Say That Hope Is Happiness
They say that Hope is happiness;
But genuine Love must prize the past,
And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:
They rose the first--they set the last;
And all that Memory loves the most
Was once our only Hope to be,
And all that Hope adored and lost
Hath melted into Memory.
Alas it is delusion all:
The future cheats us from afar,
Nor can we be what we recall,
Nor dare we think on what we are.
Hoping Of Happy New Year
Hoping of happy New Year
The year has passed
The New Year has arrived
All the pains sadness and angriness has become past
All the happiness, sweetness and love has arrived
All the sickness, Madness and childness has gone
All the matureness, intelligence and hopes has arrived
My all the things are now my past
My all concentration is just focusing on future
New Year has arrived with hope
A hope of goodness in everything
A hope that my country will be in peace
A hope that all problems may come with a simple solution
May my all the relations become more sweet and loveable?
May my all pathetic memories be just past
May my life be quite simple
May my life be full of joy
Past year is a past don’t matter what was it
But the future is unknown and unseen
Don’t know that what will happen
Just hope that everything will be good and ok
So I hope that every hope will not just hope
Hope we can say next year with hope that Happy New Year
poem by Fatima Obaid
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To A *****
My own Annette! my own Annette!
How often turn my thoughts to thee,
And those sweet hours when erst we met,
And shared our thoughts in converse free!
Around me the soft moonshine pours
A quiet flood of silver light;
And thus o'er memory's hoarded stores,
The star of thought is gleaming bright.
Yet, though long years have glided past,
Since last thy hand was clasp'd in mine,
The chain that friendship o'er us cast,
Hath felt no link of love untwine.
And we may meet in other hours,
And love where we have loved, again;
And talk of all the early flowers
We gather'd on life's by-past plain.
But there are stronger ties than ours,
Remorseless rent by cruel hands;
Torn hearts, o'er which no future hours
Shall fling again the sever'd bands.
Oh! let us weep with those who weep,
Beneath oppression's crushing hand;
And in our thoughts their anguish keep
Who till in tears our guilty land.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hope within a Flicker Hope of Light
Darkness overrides the midnight moon
a wind of gusty
night blowing;
the despair over
the mid-life of
a rolling emotion.
Future cycles behind
those mountains past -
when a freshness of
hope crawls in.
A query of the mind:
where is that hope of
longing that flows
along with the watery starlit
eyes? when
only darkness
covers the pit of despair in
fields and fields
of red poppy seeds.
A holding of the past
posts leaves of words
to despair -
the hope of singling
is far too great...
bring and guide the trail
of hope towards
darkness that exceedingly
keeps leaves of words
locked in a past...
all the meanwhile
hope is such a bright
and elegant word world...
...when future rolls
in behind those mountains -
gathering of courage will allow
tear stained leaves of words
to be guided
to a light of true inner hope.
poem by Celine Berghmans
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Today life Begins
Today you're life begins all over again
Today, you have the opportunity to be happy in it.
Today you shall experience love, and feel the warmth
of one who loves you, more than yesterday.
Today you can choose, what to carry with you,
what to leave behind.
Today you have to live your life as you
know best, best be lived, as today is golden;
today is here, and you are here, to keep this love
of mine flowing. Today is the culmination of every
day past and future: it will be what ever you decide
to make it. I hope that I am in your thoughts, to
bring this about therefore, know the truth:
that there is someone out there who loves you too!
charles garcia
2004
poem by Charles Garcia
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Myriad Thoughts
I sit here in myriad thoughts
dancing around my head
too fed up to put them to bed.
Thoughts of the past,
thoughts of the future too,
thoughts of things this and that
and thoughts of what to do.
Memories invade at times
of pastures long gone by
as the myriad thoughts
fill my mind with anger and with love
and times; I wish I could have lingered with
when my years were young.
Things pass in phases,
hearts entwine then fall apart,
seasons readily appear,
stay awhile and then depart.
Here I sit in a lonely waste
thinking thoughts of what might have been
if the crystal ball I look into had only seen.
Now the myriad thoughts appear
to haunt me in quiet times
and carry me to distant places
the world has left behind.
Those little specks of moments
that still linger from the past
that lay waiting to capture me
before the quiet time has passed.
28 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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Viva Italia!
Italia, in thy bleeding heart
I thought e'en hope was dead;
That from thy scarred and prostrate form
The spark of life had fled.
I thought, as memory's sunset glow
Its radiance o'er thee cast,
That all thy glory and thy fame
Were buried in the past.
Twice Mistress of the world, I thought
Thy star had set in gloom;
That all thy shrines and monuments
Were but thy spirit's tomb---
The mausoleum of the world,
Where Art her spoils might keep;
Where pilgrims from all shrines might come,
To wonder and to weep.
But from thy deathlike slumber now,
In joy I see thee wake
And over thy long shrouded sky
Behold the morning break.
Along the Alps and Apennines
Runs an electric thrill;
A golden splendor lights once more
Each storied vale and hill.
And hopes, bright as thy sunny skies,
Are o'er thy future cast;
The future that upon thee beams,
As glorious as thy past.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Imitation
A dark unfathomed tide
Of interminable pride -
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
I say that dream was fraught
With a wild and waking thought
Of beings that have been,
Which my spirit hath not seen,
Had I let them pass me by,
With a dreaming eye!
Let none of earth inherit
That vision of my spirit;
Those thoughts I would control,
As a spell upon his soul:
For that bright hope at last
And that light time have past,
And my worldly rest hath gone
With a sigh as it passed on:
I care not though it perish
With a thought I then did cherish
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Sonnet 147: My love is as a fever, longing still
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed.
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Were There Hope
I was never in a league of noble gentlemen
To whom she'd cast polite and flitting smiles,
Only distant hope and dying dreams for me!
Or perhaps descent into a game of wiles
To give a chance of sipping wine on heady nights
With her angelic presence to declare;
Above, an aura playing out hypnotic hues,
And I in awe of blonde cascades of hair.
But no! my tiring soul is sinking in a mire
To haunt me for an age and evermore, for
How could I expect to hold her silken hand
When I am but a soulless ghost of yore?
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope, hope?
Hope?
Never
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Streamlined or Not
Stands still
the mill.
It cannot grind
with the water
flowing slow or fast
that is past.
Yet tomorrow
old mills
destined to grind
and abrade.
Streamlined,
the future
often thrills.
And past mills,
unborn yet,
may rise
to pulverize
and grind
with future winds
blowing from
the mind.
poem by Paul Hartal
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As the morning glory opens
As the morning glory opens
to the new day
and portray her delicate beauty
my heart opens to your smiling face
and I am filled with the grace
that loving you bring
and the honour and duty
of being with you
brightens my life.
As rivers take their streams
to the sea, going through many brooks
flowing from far away
I am going deeper than they,
past all my dreams,
flowing past inner nooks
to the garden set for you and me
in the soil of our hearts.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Everyone Needs Someone
The days of the lonely are numbered ones.
They count them as they go.
They are days with dragged out moments
that always move too slow.
They don't look towards the future.
They don't want memories of the past.
They live out their teary moments
and pray they will not last.
Lonleliness is an affliction
that hits right at the heart.
It's palpable and painful
seeming never to depart.
Thoughts of why don't bring answers
for answers seem to lie
deep within a deep, dark hole
filled with a continuous sigh.
Some are lonely due to loss.
Some are closed up souls,
never open to friendship.
Some are hard to console.
Some come into the world this way.
These are the loners who've come to say
'I don't need others on any day.'
But when the day comes for them to leave
they now wish for someone to grieve.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Fragile naked pure… hope
Day begins with a silence
Rising sun goes unnoticed
Tears flowing
Pain running deep… deep down in to my soul
Thinking of you all day long
The day moves on without hope, as I sink
In to the corner of my heart… dark and deep
You broke the promise… you went away
Leaving me alone on my fate to decide my way
I burn my thoughts as I cry for love and sigh for hope
Hope you rise from the ashes of my thought
And blossom me with your innocent touch
Hope is what you left me with
poem by Laxmikant Paradkar
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A Shower
Water flowing down his black-haired head like the Greeks'
Streaming past his dark eyebrows and his deep eyes
Down his sharp nose and past his smooth cheeks
Dripping down his lush lips, past the mouth's rise
Water flowing down his strong jaws and steady chin
Streaming past his thick neck into the collar bones it trips
Down his biceps and sculptured arms that cause a din
Dripping down his hands and delicate fingertips
Water flowing down his broad shoulders
Streaming past his chest and slender warm back
Down his muscled stomach and thighs, hard as boulders
Dripping down his knees to his calves, which can bare a whack
Water flowing down his ankles to his firm feet
Creating a pool of pure liquid on the ground
Down his hard body, the water so sweet
The liquid dripping around him, so profound!
poem by Monalno Kim
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The way you remember the past depends upon your hope for the future. And if what you see in your future has no hope, it has no potential, then you view the past that brought you to here as not very good.
quote by Story Musgrave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wistful Smile
Wistful-pensive (thinking deeply about something, especially in a sad or serious manner) sad: deep in sad thoughts, especially thoughts of something yearned for or lost, or expressing this sad yearning
When all people see in you is a smile
And a bounce in your step, don’t brake
None of them find it worth while
To know the real you, their mistake
I’ve run out of faith, I think
I don’t know what faith feels like anymore
My thoughts are driving me to the brink
Even I’m getting bored
“What’s wrong? ” “Nothing”
“You’re not smiling ‘Jack’”
“Just thinking”
And that’s that
Dancing emotions all around me
Taking me on a roller costar ride
Farther than I can see
Why have I even tried?
I keep racking my brain
The music’s the only thing
Keeping me sane
I got these words to bring
I been trying to talk to you
I am a wistful human
I need you soon
So I can confide in
You my smile
You’re worth while
(I Hope)
I feel like I don’t even belong here
Please take me to the past dear
Moments of Thought
Moments of thought, flowing in like a river wild
Crashing against the shore of my inner most self
Motions of reality, intertwined with fantasy of bright skies and solid gold
One moment of this thought, another moment of that thought
Moments of thought, as construction workers build a structure
hammer, nails sounds of progress, higher my thoughts are built
Motions of truth, mixed with purpose of success and prosperity
One moment of this thought and another moment of that thought
Moments of thought, flowing, building
My thoughts of self, my intimate me
Reality, fantasy, truth with success and prosperity
Thoughts come and thoughts go, this that and the other
Hope On
Power's a cheat, success but trying,
Even pleasure bears a sting;
Still ’tis useless, useless sighing,
Rather list to Hope replying—
“The flowers must come again with spring;
And in the trampled way we re going
Streams of comfort yet are flowing—
Hark! I hear them murmuring.”
Fame’s a liar in the nation!
Love hath oft a wayward wing;
Still, hence seek not for occasion
To impugn Hope’s sweet persuasion—
“The flowers will come again with spring;
And in the world-wide way we re going
Streams of pure good yet are flowing—
Hark! I hear them murmuring.”
Friendship turns, itself denying
Even Truth the heart may wring;
Still, though trust be daily dying,
Listen still to Hope replying—
“The flowers will come again with spring:
And in the blasted way we re going
There’s yet one healing current flowing—
Hark! I hear it murmuring.”
poem by Charles Harpur
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