A Child's Eyes
To see through child's eyes again
Oh lord now such a dream,
Of scented air with not a care
And tales of all we've seen.
The warmth of days in summers haze
The softest breezes blew
A reverence of innocence
Those days were all too few.
When day was ending we grew tired
Then tucked into our beds
Spawned dreams of scenes, a field of fire
Inside our youthful heads.
But why these thoughts as I now age?
Should haunt me with such pain?
As life and strife is my next page
I wish for youth again.
poem by Dave James
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Life's Cruelty
I swear night are just not the same
days are filled with pain
anguish and misery is my friend
as am lost in a world of cruelty
blood stain my eyes
pain and sorrow haunt my imagination
violence is my only comfort
justice is unfair
lives go with out a care
am tired of all these tears
days I've dream of ending it right here
with a pop pop bang and have the life
rush out of me
so what am waiting for
i just don't know
poem by Robert Roberts
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Burning Desire
Will you love me now as you did before
in your youthful days?
Can you will yourself back to them
and show me all the ways
you would shower me with your love
and never let me go?
Or are they forgotten now, my love?
Is there just the afterglow?
Youthful days and youthful ways
are intoxicating fire.
All you have inside of you
is uncontrollable desire.
You know nothing else.
You'd rather not.
You think to yourself
'My blood runs hot.'
Is it possible to stoke that fire anew
or is that just a dream?
For me, my answer's simple.
My heart is still the steam
that showers my thoughts of only you
and gives me what I need.
My youthful ways that are still alive
makes my heart to bleed
for you.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Salad Days
Once upon a summertime In days now sadly past
We ran we played, a world of time, oh... that it should last
Without a care of busy times, so seldom seen again
We lived a world through child.s eyes... every day a game.
The summer sun our constant friend, forever it would seem,
The rainy days a faded part, of this our childhood dream
The throes of summers growing pains, now left so far behind
The smell of grass so freshly cut, stays etched upon our mind
The fields of grain that caught the wind and whispered such a tune
Of childish thoughts and innocence... they disappeared so soon.
Our friends that walked beside us, so perfect, like the games
Those memories forever ours, tho' time can lose their names
How we laughed and how we cried and yet we never knew
That these would be our salad days, so perfect yet so few...
poem by Dave James
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The dreams
Two dreams came down to earth one night
From the realm of mist and dew;
One was a dream of the old, old days,
And one was a dream of the new.
One was a dream of a shady lane
That led to the pickerel pond
Where the willows and rushes bowed themselves
To the brown old hills beyond.
And the people that peopled the old-time dream
Were pleasant and fair to see,
And the dreamer he walked with them again
As often of old walked he.
Oh, cool was the wind in the shady lane
That tangled his curly hair!
Oh, sweet was the music the robins made
To the springtime everywhere!
Was it the dew the dream had brought
From yonder midnight skies,
Or was it tears from the dear, dead years
That lay in the dreamer's eyes?
The other dream ran fast and free,
As the moon benignly shed
Her golden grace on the smiling face
In the little trundle-bed.
For 't was a dream of times to come--
Of the glorious noon of day--
Of the summer that follows the careless spring
When the child is done with play.
And 't was a dream of the busy world
Where valorous deeds are done;
Of battles fought in the cause of right,
And of victories nobly won.
It breathed no breath of the dear old home
And the quiet joys of youth;
It gave no glimpse of the good old friends
Or the old-time faith and truth.
But 't was a dream of youthful hopes,
And fast and free it ran,
And it told to a little sleeping child
Of a boy become a man!
These were the dreams that came one night
To earth from yonder sky;
These were the dreams two dreamers dreamed--
My little boy and I.
And in our hearts my boy and I
Were glad that it was so;
He loved to dream of days to come,
And I of long ago.
So from our dreams my boy and I
Unwillingly awoke,
But neither of his precious dream
Unto the other spoke.
Yet of the love we bore those dreams
Gave each his tender sign;
For there was triumph in his eyes--
And there were tears in mine!
poem by Eugene Field
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O Angel...
O Angel,
In the time of love,
Life is a silent prayer
All silent prayers!
Don't know how to describe you!
You:
The soul of innocence
Or innocence of the soul,
The soul of pain
Or pain of the soul,
The soul of loneliness
Or loneliness of the soul,
The soul of poetry
Or the poetry of the soul.......
Or
The soul of all souls
Wild with love at heart?
Who are you?
Days of love are
The days of pain never ending,
Days of pleasure immense!
Yes, the are the days of purge!
Like a wildfire, your words
Torment my soul...
Like a gentle caress,
Helps me resurrect like Phoenix...
Like a butterfly,
I flutter to kiss
All your dream-flowers
To enjoy all the hidden metaphors.....
A creative heart
Likes to be naked
And tormented always!
I know that
You are weaving wings for...................
poem by Premji Premji
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The House of Life: 66. The Heart of the Night
From child to youth; from youth to arduous man;
From lethargy to fever of the heart;
From faithful life to dream-dower'd days apart;
From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;--
Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran
Till now. Alas, the soul!--how soon must she
Accept her primal immortality,--
The flesh resume its dust whence it began?
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garner'd in from strife,
The work retriev'd, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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LXVI The Heart Of The Night
From child to youth; from youth to arduous man;
From lethargy to fever of the heart;
From faithful life to dream-dower'd days apart;
From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;--
Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran
Till now. Alas, the soul!--how soon must she
Accept her primal immortality,--
The flesh resume its dust whence it began?
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garner'd in from strife,
The work retriev'd, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Sonnet LXVI: The Heart of the Night
From child to youth; from youth to arduous man;
From lethargy to fever of the heart;
From faithful life to dream-dowered days apart;
From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;—
Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran
Till now. Alas, the soul!—how soon must she
Accept her primal immortality,—
The flesh resume its dust whence it began?
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garnered in from strife,
The work retrieved, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The House of the Life (66): The Heart of the Night
From child to youth; from youth to arduous man;
From lethargy to fever of the heart;
From faithful life to dream-dower'd days apart;
From trust to doubt; from doubt to brink of ban;--
Thus much of change in one swift cycle ran
Till now. Alas, the soul!--how soon must she
Accept her primal immortality,--
The flesh resume its dust whence it began?
O Lord of work and peace! O Lord of life!
O Lord, the awful Lord of will! though late,
Even yet renew this soul with duteous breath:
That when the peace is garner'd in from strife,
The work retriev'd, the will regenerate,
This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Field Of Innocence
Quiet.
Soft.
Full of peace.
No vandalism.
No wrong.
No sorrow.
No pain.
It's my field of innocence.
It's my life.
The place I dream about.
I know I am very young,
To early for me,
But when I pass.
I will go to this world.
Heaven,
Though, I like to call it field of innocence.
I don't know why.
Seemed fitting.
The innocent are there,
Resting in the quiet peace,
With our Lord Jesus.
I know someday I'll go,
And when I do,
I want to go to Heaven.
My Field Of Innocence.
poem by Trinity Bella
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A Crying Child
Inside my heart there's a crying child
Still remains the pain of the past
Still is there aline in pain
O, Child don't you know that?
There are truths in life won't be ever changed
All the time they stay the same
All the time they remain the pain
Over and over they revive the ache
O, Child those lost childhood days
O, Child and who can bring back the past
They are unknown inside of your heart
The longing to the unknown
Unlived
Deprived
Strange
O, Lost childhood days
O, Child Cry Cry
May your innocent tears brings back the time
O, Child may a magic take you over there
May the time stops once again right there
May the time washes away your pain
O, Child still there are tears uncried
O, Child still the happiness is lost inside your eyes.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Days
- Album: Reality
- Lyrics and music by David Bowie
Hold me tight
Keep me cool
Going mad
Don't know what to do
Do I need a friend?
Well I need one now
All the days of my life
All the days of my life
All the days I owe you
All I've done
I've done for me
All you gave
You gave for free
I gave nothing in return
And theres little left of me
All the days of my life
All the days of my life
All the days I owe you
With redeyed pain I'm knocking on your door again
My crazy brain in tangles pleading for your gentle voice
Those storms keep pounding through my faded heart
I'll play your sooth my sorry soul
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days I owe you
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days I owe you
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days I owe you
All the days of my life
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Remeber
'All my life,
I've been searching,
until that day when,
I met you.'
These words seem foolish,
to me now,
just looking back,
I fell for that? !
What did I know,
nothing I suppose,
for now I see,
you never meant a word.
I hope one day,
I can look back,
and understand why,
you did what you did.
But until then,
I just sit,
in pain and agony,
because of you.
I hope one day,
you'll feel such pain,
then realize how badly,
you hurt me.
I know it's wrong,
to wish pain on another,
but I really want you,
to understand all this.
But that's long in the past,
though days I still dream,
of the times we shared,
and what you meant to me.
We had something special,
but it never lasted long,
but those days leading up to it,
I'll never forget.
The way you let,
your heart do the talking,
the way you just,
were all you could be.
The way our eyes met,
the way our hands touched,
such perfect days,
now just dreams.
I would get lost,
in your eyes,
and keep silent,
as you spoke.
I remember those days,
do you as well,
remember the time,
my heart skipped a beat?
The laughs,
the tears,
the love,
and warmth.
But I guess,
it's all in the past,
there's nothing I can do,
but just let go of you.
poem by Katherine Bryce
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Crazy Thoughts
Our mind at times
are filled with crazy thoughts
of things that others
have long forgot.
They dance around
inside our heads
whenever we lie
down upon our beds.
Crazy thoughts of things we did
in the young lives we lead.
They seem crazy now
in the years as we grow.
They still linger in our memory
those days when we were free,
the days of our carelessness
and acting a bit crazy.
24 September 2010
poem by David Harris
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Autumn of My Youth
In autumn of my youth
I see my leaves changing
I see my stars waning.
In autumn of my youth I dreamed a dream
And sought what I seemed to be
The meaning of that dream.
In autumn of my youth it was my lot
To hunt the hungry world a spot
And lay my burdens aside
In a vast field of rye so wide
In autumn of my youth it was my place
To wrap the summers in a constant embrace
Plead them not to enter
The Ashen Valley
Where dreams are broken asunder
Below grey skies.
In autumn of my youth
I see the faces of a world that awaits me.
So ghastly black and white,
Where the loss of hope defers the youth
A second sight
In autumn of my youth,
I longed to be
With the summers, one you and one me
Equally chained and equally free
poem by Jacob McCurdy
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The Days go by
THE DAYS go by—the days go by,
Sadly and wearily to die:
Each with its burden of small cares,
Each with its sad gift of gray hairs
For those who sit, like me, and sigh,
“The days go by! The days go by!”
Ah, nevermore on shining plumes,
Shedding a rain of rare perfumes
That men call memories, they are borne
As in life’s many-visioned morn,
When Love sang in the myrtle-blooms—
Ah, nevermore on shining plumes!
Where is my life? Where is my life?
The morning of my youth was rife
With promise of a golden day.
Where have my hopes gone? Where are they—
The passion and the splendid strife?
Where is my life? Where is my life?
My thoughts take hue from this wild day,
And, like the skies, are ashen gray;
The sharp rain, falling constantly,
Lashes with whips of steel the sea:
What words are left for Hope to say?
My thoughts take hue from this wild day.
I dreamt—my life is all a dream!—
That I should sing a song supreme
To gladden all sad eyes that weep,
And take the Harp to Time, and sweep
Its chords to some eternal theme.
I dreamt—my life is all a dream.
The world is very old and wan—
The sun that once so brightly shone
Is now as pale as the pale moon.
I would that Death came swift and soon;
For all my dreams are dead and gone.
The world is very old and wan.
. . . . .
The world is young, the world is strong,
But I in dreams have wandered long.
God lives. What can Death do to me
The sun is shining on the sea.
Yet shall I sing my splendid song—
The world is young, the world is strong.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Even So
THE DAYS go by—the days go by,
Sadly and wearily to die:
Each with its burden of small cares,
Each with its sad gift of gray hairs
For those who sit, like me, and sigh,
“The days go by! The days go by!”
Ah, nevermore on shining plumes,
Shedding a rain of rare perfumes
That men call memories, they are borne
As in life’s many-visioned morn,
When Love sang in the myrtle-blooms—
Ah, nevermore on shining plumes!
Where is my life? Where is my life?
The morning of my youth was rife
With promise of a golden day.
Where have my hopes gone? Where are they—
The passion and the splendid strife?
Where is my life? Where is my life?
My thoughts take hue from this wild day,
And, like the skies, are ashen gray;
The sharp rain, falling constantly,
Lashes with whips of steel the sea:
What words are left for Hope to say?
My thoughts take hue from this wild day.
I dreamt—my life is all a dream!—
That I should sing a song supreme
To gladden all sad eyes that weep,
And take the Harp to Time, and sweep
Its chords to some eternal theme.
I dreamt—my life is all a dream.
The world is very old and wan—
The sun that once so brightly shone
Is now as pale as the pale moon.
I would that Death came swift and soon;
For all my dreams are dead and gone.
The world is very old and wan.
The world is young, the world is strong,
But I in dreams have wandered long.
God lives. What can Death do to me
The sun is shining on the sea.
Yet shall I sing my splendid song—
The world is young, the world is strong.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Mr Sandman Lullaby
Go to sleep my child
and when you close your eyes,
Mr Sandman will call
while your sleepy head
heads for the field of your dreams
under a never-ending sun.
There you will play
the whole night through.
Go to sleep my child
and when you close your eyes,
Mr Sandman will call.
Once again, you will chase butterflies
across the field of your dreams,
laugh and sing
and no crying among your tears.
Just go to sleep my child
and when you close your eyes,
Mr Sandman will call.
A new day awaits you
on the other side of your dreams
as bight and sunny
as you want it to be.
Now hushaby, hushaby
and close those sleepy eyes.
6 September 2009
poem by David Harris
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Field Of Dreams
May tomorrow bring you sunshine
as you kiss the sky
in this field of dreams
alone here, you stand
lost little dandelion
soaking up the morning sun
Love flowing like streams
torn apart at the seams
summer days are never gone
with just one promise in your hand
yesterday memories
blowing in the breeze
still never lost in time
You listen to every dropp of rain
fall like teardrops outside your window
in this field of dreams
you never let go
we hide behind the pain
this love so vein
Days so bitter sweet
days that never end
nights that just pass by
in this field of dreams
its only you and I
where our love will mend
And hearts tortured it seems
there is where we will meet
in this field of dreams
where we will never die
In this field of dreams
I'm still lonely on these streets
waiting here for you to be mine
(spiritwind-2009)
poem by Spiritwind Wood
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Field of innocence
She's still a child in some ways
she stil needs guidence on her way
the bruises she tries to cover up
everyone can see if only they knew the story
she tries not to cry at night
but she cant hold it in
what life is there for her
shes in a field of innocence
she doesnt know whats going on
she only knows the life of pain
her family brings upon her
she prays to god each night
hopen he'll take her away
But god has a plan for her
she wishes people would understand
the painful sorrow she wallows
but people dont care about a crazed teen trying to make it
out alive
Her field of innocence is where
she lies cold barley breathing but yet
still alive cant anyone save this girl
she doesnt mean to cause trouble
it somehow finds her
her field of innocence
is her world
where she wished it was real
in the real world
til now she can only dream
poem by Dominique Lange
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