Returning To Brussels
Upon a Flemish road, when noon was deep,
I passed a little consecrated shrine,
Where, among simple pictures ranged in line,
The blessed Mary holds her child asleep.
To kneel here, shepherd-maidens leave their sheep
When they feel grave because of the sunshine,
And again kneel here in the day's decline;
And here, when their life ails them, come to weep.
Night being full, I passed on the same road
By the same shrine; within, a lamp was lit
Which through the silence of clear darkness glowed.
Thus, when life's heat is past and doubts arise
Darkling, the lamp of Faith must strengthen it,
Which sometimes will not light and sometimes dies.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Mater Dolorosa
I'D a dream to-night
As I fell asleep,
O! the touching sight
Makes me still to weep:
Of my little lad,
Gone to leave me sad,
Ay, the child I had,
But was not to keep.
As in heaven high,
I my child did seek,
There in train came by
Children fair and meek,
Each in lily white,
With a lamp alight;
Each was clear to sight,
But they did not speak.
Then, a little sad,
Came my child in turn,
But the lamp he had,
O it did not burn!
He, to clear my doubt,
Said, half turn'd about,
'Your tears put it out;
Mother, never mourn.'
poem by William Barnes
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One Perfect Lie
One. One perfect lie.
Was it told too soon?
And one, one perfect life
Turned to stone.
Cold mercy.
I kneel down by your grave
I kneel down torn and guilty
Did I let you down,
Say goodbye too soon?
And did you understand
My mistake?
Forgive me.
I kneel down by your side
I kneel down scared and helpless
One perfect lie
Wrapped in kindness and tears
I wish I believed in your Heaven
One perfect life
Led by blind faith and trust
If God has a heart He will find you
I'm torn and guilty
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brite And Dark
Lamp light
Will be making
Little darkness
Shado...
Lamp was
Bright...
Bright is lamp
Life...
Shado darkness
Also the lamp
Life...! ! !
Example is
Sutable to
Human life also;
Understand...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Kneel At Your Feet
Put my trust in you when trustings hard
Wish that I could just let down my guard
Want to feel closer than I feel
I stop myself before it gets too real
Love can hurt so much it stings
Wish that I could just forget everything
Just as I start to fall apart
You pull me back into your arms
I start to breathe
As I kneel at your feet ( all I want to do)
I start to breathe
As I kneel at your feet
You cant see the other side of me
I keep it locked up safe, hide
Theres so much deep inside
Like a wild wind screaming through the trees
I start to breathe
As I kneel at your feet ( all I want to do)
I feel complete
As I kneel at your feet
Sometimes Im mesmerised
By thoughts of love flowing on and on
Dont wait dont hesitate
To spend my life with you
(but this cant be true)
All I want to do
I start to breathe
As I kneel at your feet ( all I want to do)
I feel complete
As I kneel at your feet ( all I want to do)
I start to breathe
As I kneel at your feet
song performed by by Belinda Carlisle
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Hymn 88
Life the day of grace and hope.
Eccl. 9:4-6,10.
Life is the time to serve the Lord,
The time t' insure the great reward;
And while the lamp holds out to burn,
The vilest sinner may return.
[Life is the hour that God has giv'n
To 'scape from hell and fly to heav'n;
The day of grace, and mortals may
Secure the blessings of the day.]
The living know that they must die,
But all the dead forgotten lie;
Their mem'ry and their sense is gone,
Alike unknowing and unknown.
[Their hatred and their love is lost,
Their envy buried in the dust;
They have no share in all that's done
Beneath the circuit of the sun.]
Then what my thoughts design to do,
My hands, with all your might pursue;
Since no device nor work is found,
Nor faith, nor hope, beneath the ground.
There are no acts of pardon passed
In the cold grave, to which we haste;
But darkness, death, and long despair,
Reign in eternal silence there.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Preying to my Goddess
Finding your body in this darkened room,
Covers bunched
Around you, your own private cocoon.
Fingers spayed, seeking
To feel your hair, your skin
Smoothly pressed against
Me now.
Let me prey to your flesh
In this darkened shrine, let me consecrate this passion,
My goddess.
This night, let me kneel over you,
You’re back to me
To feel your muscles tense and push back to me.
This night, let me kneel to your sanctuary,
To hear your moaned blessing
I will worship this passion for you.
poem by Akiva Roberts
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As Time One Day by me did Pass
AS Time one day by me did pass,
Through a large dusky glass
He held, I chanc'd to look,
And spied his curious book
Of past days, where sad Heav'n did shed
A mourning light upon the dead.
Many disorder'd lives I saw,
And foul records, which thaw
My kind eyes still, but in
A fair, white page of thin
And ev'n, smooth lines, like the sun's rays,
Thy name was writ, and all thy days.
O bright and happy kalendar !
Where youth shines like a star
All pearl'd with tears, and may
Teach age the holy way ;
Where through thick pangs, high agonies,
Faith into life breaks, and Death dies.
As some meek night-piece which day quails,
To candle-light unveils :
So by one beamy line
From thy bright lamp, did shine
In the same page thy humble grave,
Set with green herbs, glad hopes and brave.
Here slept my thought's dear mark ! which dust
Seem'd to devour, like rust ;
But dust—I did observe—
By hiding doth preserve ;
As we for long and sure recruits,
Candy with sugar our choice fruits.
O calm and sacred bed, where lies
In death's dark mysteries
A beauty far more bright
Than the noon's cloudless light ;
For whose dry dust green branches bud,
And robes are bleach'd in the Lamb's blood.
Sleep, happy ashes !—blessed sleep !—
While hapless I still weep ;
Weep that I have outliv'd
My life, and unreliev'd
Must—soullesse shadow !—so live on,
Though life be dead, and my joys gone.
poem by Henry Vaughan
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Her lamp glowed, their heads bowed
One, two she counted.
Three four, she moved
Lamp in hand glowed
No suitor, black faces
Terrified as rats for cat
Stared back, pleadingly
Inside eyes, she moved on
Her lamp teased,
Their hearts pounded
The pretty lass,
stood for a kill
Five to six lamp
On face after face
She sighed, her choice,
Her type
None could make,
Her lamp glowed,
Out their heads bowed.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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The Pilgrim
Vain folly of another age,
This wandering over earth,
To find the peace by some dark sin
Banish'd our household hearth.
On Lebanon the dark green pines
Wave over sacred ground,
And Carmel's consecrated rose
Springs from a hallow'd mound.
Glorious the truth they testify,
And blessed is their name;
But even in such a sacred spot,
Are sin and woe the same.
O pilgrim! with each toilsome step,
Vain every weary day;
There is no charm in soil or shrine,
To wash thy guilt away.
Return, with prayer and tear, return
To those who weep at home;
To dry their tears will more avail,
Than o'er a world to roam.
There's hope for one who leaves with shame,
The guilt that lured before;
Remember, He who said, 'Repent,'
Said also, 'Sin no more.'
Return, and in thy daily round
Of duty and of love,
Thou best wilt find that patient faith
Which lifts the soul above.
In ev'ry innocent prayer, each child
Lisps at his father's knee: -
If thine has been to teach that prayer,
There will be hope for thee.
There is a small white church, that stands
Beside thy father's grave,
There kneel and pour those earnest prayers,
That sanctify and save.
Around thee draw thine own home-ties,
And, with a chasten'd mind,
In meek well-doing seek that peace,
No wandering will find.
In charity and penitence,
Thy sin will be forgiven: -
Pilgrim, the heart is the true shrine,
Whence prayers ascend to Heaven.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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We Grow Accustomed to the Dark
We grow accustomed to the Dark --
When light is put away --
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye --
A Moment -- We uncertain step
For newness of the night --
Then -- fit our Vision to the Dark --
And meet the Road -- erect --
And so of larger -- Darkness --
Those Evenings of the Brain --
When not a Moon disclose a sign --
Or Star -- come out -- within --
The Bravest -- grope a little --
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead --
But as they learn to see --
Either the Darkness alters --
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight --
And Life steps almost straight.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Deep Blue
When sunshine is not enough
To make me feel bright
Its got me suffering in the darkness
Thats so easy come by on the road-side
Of one loong life-time
Its got me deep blue
You know Im deep blue
When you stand there, watch tired bodies
Full of sickness and pain
To show you just how helpless you really are
When you get down to the truth
It hurts me
Its got me deep blue
You know Im deep blue
When I think of the life Im living
Pray God help me; give me your light
So I can love you and understand
This repetition that keeps me here
Feeling deep blue
Its got me deep blue
You know Im deep blue
song performed by by George Harrison
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Ch 05 On Love And Youth Story 06
I remember that one night a dear friend of mine entered when I jumped up in such a heedless way that the lamp was extinguished by my sleeve. A vision appeared in the night and by its appearance the darkness was illuminated.
I was amazed at my luck exclaiming whence this felicity?
He took a seat and began reproving me saying that when I beheld him I extinguished the lamp. I said: ‘I thought the sun had risen and wits have said:
When an ugly person comes before the lamp
Arise to him and pull him into the assembly
But if it be a sugar-smiled, sweet-lipped one
Pull him by the sleeve and extinguish the lamp.’
The Unseen Shrines
The shrine where only one person can reign,
That is formless, figure less, unseen but felt and ours,
It is simply elusive, safe, treasured, but monopolized,
it is formless, figure less, unseen but felt and ours.
The shrine where only one person can reign,
Light this shrine with the wick of kindness,
The kindness, the size of life long,
Oil of understanding to fuel it regularly,
As Tolerance suffocates the person in it,
Let us understand and love each other,
The shrine where only one person can reign,
Never lighten this shrine with spirited lamps,
Smoke it with Incense of weeds and drugs,
The shrine that is figure less,
The shrine that is formless,
The shrine that is unseen,
The shrine that can be felt,
The shrine that can be enjoyed,
The shrine that can be worshiped,
It is nowhere else, it is in our heart,
That is built for the person whom we love.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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To Poesy
These vessels of verse, O Great Goddess, are filled with invisible tears,
With the sobs and sweat of my spirit and her desolate brooding for years;
See, I lay them -- not on thine altar, for they are unpolished and plain,
Not rounded enough by the potter, too much burnt in the furnace of pain;
But here in the dust, in the shadow, with a sudden wild leap of the heart
I kneel to tenderly kiss them, then in silence arise to depart.
I linger awhile at the portal with the light of the crimsoning sun
On my wreathless brow bearing the badges of battles I've fought in not won.
At the sound of the trumpet I've ever been found in thy thin fighting line,
And the weapons I've secretly sharpened have flashed in defence of thy shrine.
I've recked not of failure and losses, nor shrunk from the soilure of strife
For thy magical glamour was on me and art is the moonlight of life.
I move from the threshold, Great Goddess, with steps meditative and slow;
Night steals like a dream to the landscape and slips like a pall
o'er its glow.
I carry no lamp in my bosom and dwindling in gloom is the track,
No token of man's recognition to prompt me to ever turn back.
I strike eastward to meet the great day-dawn with the soul of my soul
by my side,
My goal though unknown is assured me, and the planet of Love is my guide.
poem by Arthur Bayldon
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A Road Well Travelled
A road well travelled does not the journey ease
Nor do well placed signposts aid our itineraries
A road well travelled is rough and rutted where
Others have passed by this way overburdened with their cares
A road well-travelled may be full of risks and dangers
You keep yourself unto yourself and never talk to strangers.
This road well travelled has no final end in sight
It can be sunny in the daytime but quite frightening at night
This road well travelled can sometimes just disappear
And you stop not knowing where to go shivering with fear
This road well travelled sometimes returns you to its start
And leaves you walking round in circles with a sad and heavy heart.
My road well travelled has many toll gates on the way
Each time I ask directions there’s a need to always pay
My road well travelled is a lonely road at times
It is a real road that I know it’s not just a state of mind
My road well travelled is not just my road you see
It’s a road that many others take and it’s called anxiety.
poem by David Keig
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Sonnet LXXXVIII: Hero's Lamp.
That lamp thou fill'st in Eros' name to-night,
O Hero, shall the Sestian augurs take
To-morrow, and for drowned Leander's sake
To Anteros its fireless lip shall plight.
Aye, waft the unspoken vow: yet dawn's first light
On ebbing storm and life twice ebb'd must break;
While 'neath no sunrise, by the Avernian Lake,
Lo where Love walks, Death's pallid neophyte.
That lamp within Anteros' shadowy shrine
Shall stand unlit (for so the gods decree)
Till some one man the happy issue see
Of a life's love, and bid its flame to shine:
Which still may rest unfir'd; for, theirs or thine,
O brother, what brought love to them or thee?
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Faute De Mieux
WHEN the corn is green and the poppies red
And the fields are crimson with love-lies-bleeding,
When the elms are black deep overhead
And the shade lies cool where the calves are feeding,
When the blackbird whistles the song of June,
When kine knee-deep in the pond are drowsing,
Leave pastoral peace--come up through the noon
To the high chalk downs where the sheep are browsing.
Oh! sweet to dream in the noontide heat,
On the scented bed of thyme and clover,
With the air from the sea, blown keen and sweet,
And the wings of the wide sky folded over,
While, far in the blue, the skylark sings,
Renounce desire and renounce endeavour,
Forget life's little unworthy things
And dream that the dream will last for ever.
The love of your life, in your heart's hid shrine,
With its gifts and its torments, leave it sighing,
And I will bury the pain of mine
In the selfsame grave where its joy is lying.
Let me hold your hand for a quiet hour
In the wild thyme's scent and the clear blue weather,
Then come what may, we have plucked one flower,
This hour on the downs alone together.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Place Is Consecrated
This place is consecrated, I am flustered
By you, who works wonders on my essence;
A fluorescent lamp manages tightly to be answered,
By the rooms of graveness, ones with affluence.
The flung lamp recognises us with intelligence,
We are sapient as an appearance of solidity;
Intellectual work or my line of business is an annoyance,
Licking the time, I swallow this alkalinity.
This place is consecrated due to us being pious,
Safety is a flyer of heaven, full of heaven;
The rooms of danger are not too featureless,
Fearful work has happened with a curtain.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Garden Temple Of Paradise
Everything is beautiful at this time of day,
Following a quickening morning shower.
And the huge orange pearl that is the sun
Is just beginning to shepherd its endless power.
The spirit of divine blessings carries me,
In a vision, to the center of this sacred lush glade.
There lays a stone walkway crossing a footbridge
In a course toward stairs of rock on a rising grade.
Then immediately before me, a shrine-like temple,
With finely carved work exhibited on every side,
It appears to be the craft of the Eternal Builder himself,
To whom the fairest beauties of nature have replied.
It bestows its stately head of glittering spires to the sky,
Resting upon its noble structure of stone buttress and turrets.
The remaining stairs, I bound, and through the gilded doors,
Into the cedar and marble interior, a work of matchless merits.
The artifacts are carved to satisfy the eyes of God,
And, for amenity, a cruciform lamp high in the ceiling of the shrine.
Comprising the interior are two large and lavish units,
The nave consecrated to the body and the apse to the mind.
The golden glow of the lamp exalted the light in my eyes,
So I turned toward the door and gingerly stepped down the aisle.
With head bowed, I walked through the gilded doors,
Feeling the tender glow of the light on my back all the while.
poem by Albert Price
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Darkness Of...
Darkness is not the darkness of night
it is the darkness of mind and soul.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of discrimination between poor and rich.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of dishonesty.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of aggravate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is darkness of corruption.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of indiscipline.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of animosity.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of inveterate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of perjury.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness that we all brought up inside us,
so, light the lamp of light inside you...
poem by Suniya Garg
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