En.Citatepedia^®.ro

In Prison

I cried out for the pain of man,
I cried out for my bitter wrath
Against the hopeless life that ran
For ever in a circling path
From death to death since all began;
Till on a summer night
I lost my way in the pale starlight
And saw our planet, far and small,
Through endless depths of nothing fall
A lonely pin-prick spark of light,
Upon the wide, enfolding night,
With leagues on leagues of stars above it,
And powdered dust of stars below—
Dead things that neither hate nor love it
Not even their own loveliness can know,
Being but cosmic dust and dead.
And if some tears be shed,
Some evil God have power,
Some crown of sorrow sit
Upon a little world for a little hour—
Who shall remember? Who shall care for it?

poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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The Drover Of The Stars

IT is little I care for earth's kings,
Its emperors, sultans and czars,
As I lie in the darkness and dream
All alone with my sheep and the stars.
For as dust of the moment are they,
Now agleam and now still on earth's breast;
But the stars, spreading wide in the night,
Travel on, ever on to the west.
My sheep, snugly camped in the dark,
Misty-white with the pale grasses blend;
But where is the camp of the stars?
And whither, O Night, do they wend?
Through leagues of dry distance we came,
Where dust-wreaths, wind-woven, upcurled,
Since Dawn dropped the rails of the east
And let the Day into our world.
Slow-moving we travelled the plains,
Trudging on through the sun and the wind,
Till Day galloped out of the west,
And Night set the sliprails behind.
And now, by my camp-fire alone,
A tryst with pale Wonder I keep —
That mystical Lady of Dreams,
Whose hour is the sleep-of-the-sheep.
Foot-tired in the grasses they lie,
Mist-pale in the darkness, and dumb;
Yet who was it mustered the stars,
And whence and what leagues have they come?
Who keeps them from straying apart?
Who urges them straight on their route?
No answer — none tell me; and lo!
The Night, though it listen, is mute!
Watch 'neath the stars of the Cross,
Orion, and Venus and Mars;
I am but a drover of sheep —
But who is the Drover of Stars?

poem by Roderic Quinn
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The Camp Within the West

O DID you see a troop go by
Way-weary and oppressed,
Dead kisses on the drooping lip
And a dead heart in the breast?

Yea, I have seen them one by one
Way-weary and oppressed,
And when I asked them, ‘Whither speed?’
They answered, ‘To the West!’

And were they pale as pale could be—
Death-pale with haunted eyes,
And did you see the hot white dust
Range round their feet and rise?

Oh, they were pale as pale could be,
And pale as an embered leaf;
The hot white dust had risen, but
They laid it with their grief.

Did no one say the way is long,
And crave a little rest?
Oh no, they said, ‘The night is nigh,
Our camp is in the West!’

And did pain pierce their feet, as though
The way with thorns were set,
And were they visited by strange
Dark angels of regret?

Oh yea, and some were mute as death,
Though shot by many a dart,
With them the salt of inward tears
Went stinging through the heart.

And how are these wayfarers called,
And whither do they wend?
The Weary-Hearted—and their road
At sunset hath and end.

Shed tears for them…Nay, nay, no tears!
They yearn for endless rest;
Perhaps large stars will burn above
Their camp within the West.

poem by Roderic Quinn
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I'll Remember You

It's funny how time slips away
On those long summer nights,
I had sat down at my balcony,
I had gazed at the stars,
I had cried all night,
I had cried tears` of 'Good -bye': But
I had to keep on going without your love
Living my life the way I choose to
Discovering the things that are left for me to do
Doing the things that I love
Let there be light
Don't give excuses
Don't wait for answers
Don't wait for tomorrow
Don't ask me why
No need to be angry anymore
No need to wait anymore
For this special day, special hour,
No need to fight, just follow him, because
The Lord has come to set you free
The Lord has come to take you home
A place with no more pain and sorrows
Where you will find comfort and peace
Maybe someday, you will meet me again
A time has come to say” Good-bye'
I'll remember you in my dreams
I'll remember you in my sleep
I'll remember you each day and every hour of the day
I'll remember you for all the good things you have done for me
I'll remember you for the special time we spent together.
I'll remember you in my prayers
I'll remember you for the kind of person you were
I'll remember you every night
I'll remember you for your special smiles and laughter
I'll remember you

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Children's Playground In The City

THIS is a place where men laid their dead,
Each with his life-tale of good or ill;
Here prayers were murmured and hot tears shed,
And passionate anguish moaned its fill.
Silent now is each voice that cried,
And the tears that were wept have all been dried
In the dust; and dust are the hearts that bled
With hopeless longing for hearts grown still.

Dead and forgotten! for Death, requiter
Of love, taught Memory how to forget!
The love that remembered them died. Grow brighter,
Oh, dim grave-garden, with dead hearts set!
Room for the small flying feet to pass,
The feet of the children over the grass!
The dead, if they knew it, would feel them lighter
Than the weight of a stone that no tears make wet.

We must die too, and the grief that will live
Must die as surely--death comes to all;
But you who come after--let Nature give
To our graves her tears, to our dust her pall:
Let her hide us away in her cold broad breast,
Let us be forgotten, and be at rest,
And over our heads let the great world strive,
And the children's voices carol and call.

If your heart on the flower of remembrance is set,
There is one way to pluck it--and only one:
Dare you ask your country not to forget
A name that needs to be graved on stone?
By grief, strife, sacrifice, scorn of fame,
You may grave on the people's hearts your name,
Or your name may die, and your soul live yet
In the cause you died for--the work you have done.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Build For Pain

DEATH IS WIND AND I BREATH IT IF SOMEONE FORCES ME 2 OR IF IM TIRED OF LIFE MYSELF.
PAIN + PAIN IS DEATH
MISERY + UNHAPPINESS IS SORROW
SORROW + PAIN IS TEARS
AND I SHED SO MANY FOR PEERS
THAT GOES DOWN THE PATH TO
WHEN DEATH THEY DODGE
TO WHERE SOME STRIKES WITH
VENGENCE AND LEAVE US DEAD IN THE
STREETS OF OUR HEARTS
DEATH SHED NO TEARS OF ITS OWN
BUT IF I HAVE TO HOLD MY BREATH TO KEEP
DEATH AWAY FROM ME I WONT BECAUSE
IM ALREADY BUILT FOR PAIN

poem by Used2Pain mopbfnl2d
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The Itinerant Singing Girl

Fatherless and motherless, no brothers have I,
And all my little sisters in the cold grave lie;
Wasted with hunger I saw them falling dead -
Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.

Friendless and loverless, I wander to and fro,
Singing while my faint heart is breaking fast with woe,
Smiling in my sorrow, and singing for my bread -
Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.

Harp clang and merry song by stranger's door and board,
None ask wherefore tremble my pale lips at each word;
None care why the color from my wan cheek has fled -
Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.

Smiling and singing still, tho' hunger, want, and woe,
Freeze the young life-current in my veins as I go;
Begging for my living, yet wishing I were dead -
Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.

poem by Jane Francesca Wilde
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You Are Unto Dust

You are made from the dust of the earth,
And the Wailing-Wall will be there for you;
For you are unto dust and you shall return unto dust,
And this is just the journey of the spirit.

To the realm of the unknown and to the things we do for love,
And until death put us apart on this side of the planet;
For the flesh goes back to where it belongs to!
Yes, back to the earth.

Death is part of us and we need to learn from others,
For we have to be prepared as well;
For he flesh goes back to where it belongs to;
And out of the dust we were made.

The dust became flesh and today we are human beings,
And from the knowledge of the things to come;
But naked we came and naked we shall return.

Shed no tears on this love,
For death comes for all of us on this earth;
And we need to learn from the facts around us as well,
For it is better to be very righteous than to be buried with evil deeds.

Life is a long road full of sand and,
All that is acquired on this earth is vanity!
Yes, vanity upon vanity! !
For you and i are unto dust and,
Unto dust we shall return at the end of of all things.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Night I Cried

The night i cried
You weren't anymore there
Tears were heavy
No one asked me to share.

The night i cried
I cried whole night
Thinking of u my love
tears didn't stop a while.

The night i cried
I didn't want to cry
But i cried all night
still didn't know why.

The night i cried
I didn't wipe out my tears
I let them flow away
With the pain i preserved for years.

The night i cried
I silently sang something
That made me miss you more
Even more than i ever did.

The night i cried
My eyes couldn't sleep
My mind was going on asking me
Why i went so deep....

poem by Meera Santoshi
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The Sky And The Earth

Long ago the sky loved the earth.
But they could not meet,
Because of fear of sun's wrath,
Who paralyzed the earth with heat.

Then the sky cried,
And relieved the earth.
Through the rivers that flew wide
From angry sun's wrath

When at night sun went to sleep,
There was darkness all around.
And the sky used to weep
Until to help him moon and stars came round.

Now the sky could see the earth at night,
For the moon and stars shone bright.
Every thing was right,
Away from sun's sight.

But sun came to know,
And took a vow.
To punish sky and earth,
And asteroids and meteors took birth.

They smashed the earth raising dust cloud.
And the sky bust aloud,
And it wept continuously.
Until earth's scars were filled completely.

Sun became angrier because sky had dared,
To undo the punishment sun had ordered.
And now he shone more bright,
And the whole sky was set alight.

The sky yelped in pain,
But his every try was in vain.
For he had challenged the sun's might,
And got himself into a suicidal fight.

And to this day when the earth is warmed,
The sky weeps relieving earth's pain.
And it seems to meet at horizon,
And after sky weeps a rainbow is formed.

And to this day the sky is waiting
With patience unexhausted.
For the day when the sun will be dead,
And for the day of their meeting.

poem by Anjesh shekhar
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Where Does It Go?

As I watch the
Night Sky
I think of you.
The one I grew
Up with,
The one I always
Talked to,
The one I never left.
I watched the sky
On theanniversary
Of you death.
I feel that in times
Nature atunes to
Our emotions.
I watched the
Night sky.
Your death
Was so abrupt
Everyone was
Shocked.
I watch the
Night sky
As all the
Stars cry.
I stand over the
Grave marked as mine.

The sky bleeds
It's crystal
Tears.
Dead in the winter
A death had
Occured,
People cry for
The lost,
They cry for
The pain.
Now they weep
For my soul
For it is lost.
I can't join
The dead for
It wasn't my
Time, but
I can't be
Alive for my
Body is dead.
I'm lost between
Worlds.
I want to
Sleep.
As I stand over the
Grave marked as mine.
The night of the anniversary
Replays every year.

When I return to the
Scene where I wept
Crimson tears
Every night of the anniversary
The story replays,
But no living soul
Can see it.
Wrong conclusions
Drawn by human thoughts
And yet if they could
See what I do,
Then all will be
Explained
As the night of the anniversary
Replays every year.

As I watch the
Night sky
And all the stars
Cry,
As I stand over the
Grave marked as mine,
The night of the anniversary
Replays every year.

I live on.

poem by Sans Serif
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Genesis

In the outer world that was before this earth,
That was before all shape or space was born,
Before the blind first hour of time had birth,
Before night knew the moonlight or the morn;

Yea, before any world had any light,
Or anything called God or man drew breath,
Slowly the strong sides of the heaving night
Moved, and brought forth the strength of life and death.

And the sad shapeless horror increate
That was all things and one thing, without fruit,
Limit, or law; where love was none, nor hate,
Where no leaf came to blossom from no root;

The very darkness that time knew not of,
Nor God laid hand on, nor was man found there,
Ceased, and was cloven in several shapes; above
Light, and night under, and fire, earth, water, and air.

Sunbeams and starbeams, and all coloured things,
All forms and all similitudes began;
And death, the shadow cast by life's wide wings,
And God, the shade cast by the soul of man.

Then between shadow and substance, night and light,
Then between birth and death, and deeds and days,
The illimitable embrace and the amorous fight
That of itself begets, bears, rears, and slays,

The immortal war of mortal things that is
Labour and life and growth and good and ill,
The mild antiphonies that melt and kiss,
The violent symphonies that meet and kill,

All nature of all things began to be.
But chiefliest in the spirit (beast or man,
Planet of heaven or blossom of earth or sea)
The divine contraries of life began.

For the great labour of growth, being many, is one;
One thing the white death and the ruddy birth;
The invisible air and the all-beholden sun,
And barren water and many-childed earth.

And these things are made manifest in men
From the beginning forth unto this day:
Time writes and life records them, and again
Death seals them lest the record pass away.

For if death were not, then should growth not be,
Change, nor the life of good nor evil things;
Nor were there night at all nor light to see,
Nor water of sweet nor water of bitter springs.

For in each man and each year that is born
Are sown the twin seeds of the strong twin powers;
The white seed of the fruitful helpful morn,
The black seed of the barren hurtful hours.

And he that of the black seed eateth fruit,
To him the savour as honey shall be sweet;
And he in whom the white seed hath struck root,
He shall have sorrow and trouble and tears for meat.

And him whose lips the sweet fruit hath made red
In the end men loathe and make his name a rod;
And him whose mouth on the unsweet fruit hath fed
In the end men follow and know for very God.

And of these twain, the black seed and the white,
All things come forth, endured of men and done;
And still the day is great with child of night,
And still the black night labours with the sun.

And each man and each year that lives on earth
Turns hither or thither, and hence or thence is fed;
And as a man before was from his birth,
So shall a man be after among the dead.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The Wayfarers

Still the white stars burn overhead,
The green earth swings upon her way:
Where are the voices of the dead,
The hearts of Yesterday?
Drawn by what strange, mysterious power,
From what dream world and magic sky
Came they to laugh on earth an hour,
To weep, to toil, to die?

And whither gone? On what wild flight
By planet pale and sceptred star?
What realms of sorrow or delight
Now wander they afar?

Pale Wayfarers, whose noiseless tread
Is near me as I seem to see
The mighty generations dead,
And all that yet shall be!

Are Past and Future, then, a breath
That one vast Present makes its own?
The Angel, Birth, the Shadow, Death,
Each guards a world unknown.

Wayfarers all, we know not whence
We came, nor whitherwards we go.
Deep in our hearts a haunting sense
That somewhere we shall know.

Still the white stars burn overhead,
The green earth swings upon her way:
Where are the voices of the dead,
The hearts of yesterday?

poem by George Essex Evans
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What is?

Love, Sorrow, And Death
what is love?
love is the sweet scent of roses
and the warm summer breeze
and your eyes shining brightly like the stars in the night time sky
what is sorrow?
sorrow is the darkest of days
and you walking away
and the dead look in your eyes
What is death?
Death is you
for you have killed this heart of mine breaking it in to tiny little pieces
for you have killed me

poem by Shylah Clarissa Turcotte
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He who had been dead was dead no more

‘He's mine' boasted the grave in victory
'He is dead so now he belongs to me'
But Death had forgotten about the One
Who's God's One and Only Belovèd Son.

Jesus had arrived upon that sad scene
giving hope where only despair had been.
'I am the Resurrection and Life, ' said He
'The power of Death is subject to me.'

'Where have you laid him? ' sadly Jesus sighed
'Come and see, Lord, ' both the women replied.
Seeing their helplessness at the graveside
Deep tears of sorrow the Son of God cried.

They opened the tomb, rolled the stone away
Then they heard Jesus in a loud voice say
'Lazarus come out' and amazingly they saw
That he who had been dead was dead no more.

'Remove the grave clothing and let him go'
and each semblance of death was removed so
and His power over death Jesus did show
it that town of Bethany long ago.

poem by Royston
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Elizabeth Childers

Dust of my dust,
And dust with my dust,
O, child who died as you entered the world,
Dead with my death!
Not knowing Breath, though you tried so hard,
With a heart that beat when you lived with me,
And stopped when you left me for Life.
It is well, my child. For you never traveled
The long, long way that begins with school days,
When little fingers blur under the tears
That fall on the crooked letters.
And the earliest wound, when a little mate
Leaves you alone for another;
And sickness, and the face of Fear by the bed;
The death of a father or mother;
Or shame for them, or poverty;
The maiden sorrow of school days ended;
And eyeless Nature that makes you drink
From the cup of Love, though you know it’s poisoned;
To whom would your flower-face have been lifted?
Botanist, weakling? Cry of what blood to yours?—
Pure or foul, for it makes no matter,
It’s blood that calls to our blood.
And then your children—oh, what might they be?
And what your sorrow? Child! Child!
Death is better than Life!

poem by Edgar Lee Masters from Spoon River Anthology
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Death Is Here And Death Is There

I.
Death is here and death is there,
Death is busy everywhere,
All around, within, beneath,
Above is death—and we are death.

II.
Death has set his mark and seal
On all we are and all we feel,
On all we know and all we fear,

...

III.
First our pleasures die—and then
Our hopes, and then our fears—and when
These are dead, the debt is due,
Dust claims dust—and we die too.

IV.
All things that we love and cherish,
Like ourselves must fade and perish;
Such is our rude mortal lot--
Love itself would, did they not.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Complaint of Lisa

There is no woman living who draws breath
So sad as I, though all things sadden her.
There is not one upon life's weariest way
Who is weary as I am weary of all but death.
Toward whom I look as looks the sunflower
All day with all his whole soul toward the sun;
While in the sun's sight I make moan all day,
And all night on my sleepless maiden bed.
Weep and call out on death, O Love, and thee,
That thou or he would take me to the dead.
And know not what thing evil I have done
That life should lay such heavy hand on me.

Alas! Love, what is this thou wouldst with me?
What honor shalt thou have to quench my breath,
Or what shall my heart broken profit thee?
O Love, O great god Love, what have I done,
That thou shouldst hunger so after my death?
My heart is harmless as my life's first day:
Seek out some false fair woman, and plague her
Till her tears even as my tears fill her bed:
I am the least flower in thy flowery way,
But till my time be come that I be dead,
Let me live out my flower-time in the sun,
Though my leaves shut before the sunflower.

O Love, Love, Love, the kingly sunflower!
Shall he the sun hath looked on look on me,
That live down here in shade, out of the sun,
Here living in the sorrow and shadow of death?
Shall he that feeds his heart full of the day
Care to give mine eyes light, or my lips breath?
Because she loves him, shall my lord love her
Who is as a worm in my lord's kingly way?
I shall not see him or know him alive or dead;
But thou, I know thee, O Love, and pray to thee
That in brief while my brief life-days be done,
And the worm quickly make my marriage-bed.

For underground there is no sleepless bed.
But here since I beheld my sunflower
These eyes have slept not, seeing all night and day
His sunlike eyes, and face fronting the sun.
Wherefore, if anywhere be any death,
I fain would find and fold him fast to me,
That I may sleep with the world's eldest dead,
With her that died seven centuries since, and her
That went last night down the night-wandering way.
For this is sleep indeed, when labor is done,
Without love, without dreams, and without breath,
And without thought, O name unnamed! of thee.

Ah! but, forgetting all things, shall I thee?
Wilt thou not be as now about my bed
There underground as here before the sun?
Shall not thy vision vex me alive and dead,
Thy moving vision without form or breath?
I read long since the bitter tale of her
Who read the tale of Launcelot on a day,
And died, and had no quiet after death,
But was moved ever along a weary way,
Lost with her love in the underworld; ah me,
O my king, O my lordly sunflower,
Would God to me, too, such a thing were done!

But if such sweet and bitter things be done,
Then, flying from life, I shall not fly from thee.
For in that living world without a sun
Thy vision will lay hold upon me dead,
And meet and mock me, and mar my peace in death.
Yet if being wroth, God had such pity on her,
Who was a sinner and foolish in her day,
That even in hell they twain should breathe one breath,
Why should he not in some wise pity me?
So if I sleep not in my soft strait bed,
I may look up and see my sunflower
As he the sun, in some divine strange way.

O poor my heart, well knowest thou in what way
This sore sweet evil unto us was done.
For on a holy and a heavy day
I was arisen out of my still small bed
To see the knights tilt, and one said to me
"The king;" and seeing him, somewhat stopped my breath;
And if the girl spake more, I heard her not,
For only I saw what I shall see when dead,
A kingly flower of knights, a sunflower,
That shone against the sunlight like the sun,
And like a fire, O heart, consuming thee,
The fire of love that lights the pyre of death.

Howbeit I shall not die an evil death
Who have loved in such a sad and sinless way,
That this my love, lord, was no shame to thee.
So when mine eyes are shut against the sun,
O my soul's sun, O the world's sunflower,
Thou nor no man will quite despise me dead.
And dying I pray with all my low last breath
That thy whole life may be as was that day,
That feast-day that made trothplight death and me,
Giving the world light of thy great deeds done;
And that fair face brightening thy bridal bed,
That God be good as God hath been to her.

That all things goodly and glad remain with her,
All things that make glad life and goodly death;
That as a bee sucks from a sunflower
Honey, when summer draws delighted breath,
Her soul may drink of thy soul in like way,
And love make life a fruitful marriage-bed
Where day may bring forth fruits of joy to day
And night to night till days and nights be dead.
And as she gives light of her love to thee,
Give thou to her the old glory of days long done;
And either give some heat of light to me,
To warm me where I sleep without the sun.

O sunflower make drunken with the sun,
O knight whose lady's heart draws thine to her,
Great king, glad lover, I have a word to thee.
There is a weed lives out of the sun's way,
Hid from the heat deep in the meadow's bed,
That swoons and whitens at the wind's least breath,
A flower star-shaped, that all a summer day
Will gaze her soul out on the sunflower
For very love till twilight finds her dead.
But the great sunflower heeds not her poor death,
Knows not when all her loving life is done;
And so much knows my lord the king of me.

Ay, all day long he has no eye for me;
With golden eye following the golden sun
From rose-colored to purple-pillowed bed,
From birthplace to the flame-lit place of death,
From eastern end to western of his way,
So mine eye follows thee, my sunflower,
So the white star-flower turns and yearns to thee,
The sick weak weed, not well alive or dead,
Trod under foot if any pass by her,
Pale, without color of summer or summer breath
In the shrunk shuddering petals, that have done
No work but love, and die before the day.

But thou, to-day, to-morrow, and every day,
Be glad and great, O love whose love slays me.
Thy fervent flower made fruitful from the sun
Shall drop its golden seed in the world's way,
That all men thereof nourished shall praise thee
For grain and flower and fruit of works well done;
Till thy shed seed, O shining sunflower,
Bring forth such growth of the world's garden-bed
As like the sun shall outlive age and death.
And yet I would thine heart had heed of her
Who loves thee alive; but not till she be dead.
Come, Love, then, quickly, and take her utmost breath.

Song, speak for me who am dumb as are the dead;
From my sad bed of tears I send forth thee,
To fly all day from sun's birth to sun's death
Down the sun's way after the flying sun,
For love of her that gave thee wings and breath
Ere day be done, to seek the sunflower.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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When I'm Dead And Gone

When I'm dead and gone
At my funeral don't play another sad song
I wanna see tears of joy not of sorrow
Remember this day for it will be gone tomorrow
I want people to celebrate my death day
The same way they celebrated my birthday
Remember the good things I've done in my life, and forget the bad
Remember our love, cause at times that's all we had
When I'm dead and gone, who would really miss me?
I would hope that the memory of me make people happy
I'd like to say I'm sorry to all those I've done wrong
And thanks to all who showed me love my whole life long
I have to get these feelings out before I'm dead and gone
Same may wonder why I'm doing this poem
Maybe I feel like my life is reaching its final storm
I rather say this right now right here
Cause later I may not be able to say nothing I fear
No I'm not ready to meet death.
But I rather for you to know now,
Then when I'm dead and gone to be thinking something else.

poem by Daniel Chapman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ode for New Year's Day

Woe unto you, ye sons of pain that are this day in earth,
Now cry for all your torment: now curse your hour of birth
And the fathers who begat you to a portion nothing worth.
And Thou, my own beloved, for as brave as ere thou art,
Bow down thine head, Despoina, clasp thy pale arms over it,
Lie low with fast-closed eyelids, clenched teeth, enduring heart,
For sorrow on sorrow is coming wherein all flesh has part.
The sky above is sickening, the clouds of God’s hate cover it,
Body and soul shall suffer beyond all word or thought,
Till the pain and noisy terror that these first years have wrought
Seem but the soft arising and prelude of the storm
That fiercer still and heavier with sharper lightnings fraught
Shall pour red wrath upon us over a world deform.

Thrice happy, O Despoina, were the men who were alive
In the great age and the golden age when still the cycle ran
On upward curve and easily, for them both maid and man
And beast and tree and spirit in the green earth could thrive.
But now one age is ending, and God calls home the stars
And looses the wheel of the ages and sends it spinning back
Amid the death of nations, and points a downward track,
And madness is come over us and great and little wars.
He has not left one valley, one isle of fresh and green
Where old friends could forgather amid the howling wreck.
It’s vainly we are praying. We cannot, cannot check
The Power who slays and puts aside the beauty that has been.

It’s truth they tell, Despoina, none hears the heart’s complaining
For Nature will not pity, nor the red God lend an ear,
Yet I too have been mad in the hour of bitter paining
And lifted up my voice to God, thinking that he could hear
The curse wherewith I cursed Him because the Good was dead.
But lo! I am grown wiser, knowing that our own hearts
Have made a phantom called the Good, while a few years have sped
Over a little planet. And what should the great Lord know of it
Who tosses the dust of chaos and gives the suns their parts?
Hither and thither he moves them; for an hour we see the show of it:
Only a little hour, and the life of the race is done.
And here he builds a nebula, and there he slays a sun
And works his own fierce pleasure. All things he shall fulfill,
And O, my poor Despoina, do you think he ever hears
The wail of hearts he has broken, the sound of human ill?
He cares not for our virtues, our little hopes and fears,
And how could it all go on, love, if he knew of laughter and tears?

Ah, sweet, if a man could cheat him! If you could flee away
Into some other country beyond the rosy West,
To hide in the deep forests and be for ever at rest
From the rankling hate of God and the outworn world’s decay!

poem by Clive Staples Lewis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your Eyes

The night sky is not a place,
Where I could lost while watching.
That time I would only remember ur face,
But still moons n stars try attracting

I wonder why they are so beautiful!
I could watch them for hour's n hours,
Those two eyes of yours and I give
Damn to those moon n stars.

Stars are millions n your eyes are two
But your eyes are the one to win.
Dear, It's the same mistake they always do
Every night, come to sky n compare with you

Or maybe that's not what they are doing,
They must have known you would be sleeping
In night, so they are taking their chance
Being happy, twinkling in sky and doing dance.

Many would fall in the beauty of the stars
Watching them from roofs, window, street and
Stopping bike and looking through the window of cars
Lost in its beauty and never ending night that's what they demand.

But sorry dear, I also look to the sky.
Laugh at them because I know they are shy
I don't want to see its beauty,
I have a thing to do and I call it my duty.

I ask them not to come to sky ever again
Remember this or else u (stars) would be in a great pain.
I wish if I could destroy then all,
Blast them in pieces with the strongest cannon ball.

Let's leave this and them in their own world.
I know your eyes are too beautiful.
So let me see your eyes until the day is over
I want to lost in its deepness for forever.

Don't try to hide those from me
They are to beautiful so let me see,
Or don't block with your hands or move your head
If I don't see it, still I would be breathing but a man like dead.

So please don't stop me dear,
I can't see it every day,
I am happy, smiling, inside I am dancing
It's all because u came to meet me today…
End

poem by Sushanta Rokka
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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