Sonnet: Let’s Put Our Trust In God
When shattered seems the Lamp of Life in me;
And broken lies the glass-mantle of fame;
My body's wick too half-burnt and sadly;
Heart's fuel gone, in hopelessness and shame!
I ponder if these are my earth's last days,
As weary lie my spirit and my will;
While Death's cold-sneer is laughing at my face;
I feel miserable, so extremely ill!
The God in me goads me to carry on;
For earth's verdicts are not infallible;
New Hope could come with every morning's Dawn;
Nothing to God is ev'r impossible!
I continue to live as God demands,
He holds my hour-glass and its falling-sands!
poem by John Celes
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Related quotes
To The One I've Known When I Was Younger Then
there was something in the past
that burnt me
you were there innocent like someone who does not belong
to earth
you never had he wings of an angel or even that of a bird
the chicken in you shames me
you were telling stories that i had no right to listen
because they hurt me
you did not know, you were a stranger in my heart
i was shattered with the news
you laughed at me, that was my first shame,
i fetched water from the well, repaired the leaking roof of the
house of my father, did not talk to mama for days,
regretting that i was born
with a limp on my leg, a black mark on my face,
a weakness on my heels
i did not change anything, it would be impossible
i must live all my years, and you shut your mouth up
you know very well, that despite everything
i am human and i have the right to be here
and you went your way, and i avoided the cross-crossing of
our paths
i live my life well, and that is your shame.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Beggar of Wu Ma Jie
He’s laid his head on a Chinese street
There’s nothing of dignity here,
He’s bared his soul in a plastic bowl
For the rest of the world to jeer,
His clothes are ragged, his body is torn
With a million kinds of sin,
The sort that everyone walking past
Holds close; hides under the skin.
He lies in dirt on a filthy rag
To keep the cold from his bones,
And never utters a word to beg,
Though often he cries, or groans,
His face is one with the living earth
As he rests his head on the ground,
He’s soaked by the chilling winter rains
And washed by the summer storms.
His bowl holds only a few yuan
That those with a humble heart
Might dropp in shame, then hurry away
From a life that’s fallen apart;
There’s no compassion in passing eyes
Just the hint of a prideful sneer,
That damns us all to the final fall
As we taste of his deep despair.
Our Lord, or Buddha, in heat or cold
You lie in his wretched form,
To feel the toll of a human soul
Who’s lost to his wife and home;
A man walks tall in the morning sun
Is crippled by those held dear,
Then falls to earth, is there no repair
For the beggar of Wu Ma Jie?
13 December 2006
poem by David Lewis Paget
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A Glass Of Water Please
and so the story wants to end itself with a
glass of water.
those who cry after always need
a glass of water.
those whose hearts are broken
those who sob
those who close the window of the niche
those who have nightmares
those who wake up at 3 o'clock in the morning
those who sit on bed and cannot sleep back
always go to the kitchen
open the refrigerator
get a glass and splash
a cold glass of water
this time, i am asking for a glass of water
for i could be
all of the above or you could be one of those
i have described
but who knows we are not one of those
who knows
we are but just anyone who is normally thirsty
and with nothing to ask
simply ask
for a glass of cold water.
and cheerfully, we do not forget to say
please....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Is It Well?
Saw you the youth, with the face like the morning,
Refilling the glass, that foamed white as the sea?
Heard you the words that fell down like a warning,
'Lift not the glass: it holds sorrow for thee'?
He heeds not nor listens:
The red liquor glistens,
And he sees not the fangs of the serpent beneath.
And the fiends are elated,
And the voice waileth 'Fated,'
As he drains out the glass: the dumb agent of death.
High had he set his mark. Fame, wealth, and glory,
All should be his ere the noon-tide of life.
A name that should live in the annals of story,
His was a heart that could battle with strife.
'Here's to youthful endeavor!'
He cries. 'Ah! for ever
Shall the ruddy glass cheer me on life's rugged way.
There is strength for all trouble
In each airy bubble.
Who dares prate of danger and sorrow, I pray?'
Where is the youth with the face like the morning?
Where are the hopes that glowed bright as the noon!
He who had heard and obeyed not the warning,
Oh! has he reaped the dire harvest so soon?
He quaffed, all unheeding
The small voice's pleading,
And he lieth to-night in a dark prison cell.
This is his glory,
The name carved in story.
This has the red glass done. Say, is it well?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A Glass Of Wine
'What's in a glass of wine?'
There, set the glass where I can look within.
Now listen to me, friend, while I begin
And tell you what I see-
What I behold with my far-reaching eyes,
And what I know to be
Below the laughing bubbles that arise
Within this glass of wine.
There is a little spirit, night and day,
That cries one word, for ever and alway:
That single word is 'More!'
And whoso drinks a glass of wine, drinks him:
You fill the goblet full unto the brim,
And strive to silence him.
Glass after glass you drain to quench his thirst,
Each glass contains a spirit like the first;
And all their voices cry
Until they shriek and clamor, howl and rave,
And shout 'More!' noisily,
Till welcome death prepares the drunkard's grave,
And stills the imps that rave.
That see I in the wine:
And tears so many that I cannot guess;
And all these drops are labelled with 'Distress.'
I know you cannot see.
And at the bottom are the dregs of shame:
Oh! it is plain to me.
And there are woes too terrible to name:
Now drink your glass of wine.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I Am Not An Anchor
Forever isn't long enough
I hope that in my dreams
I get the chance to feel as whole
As when your close to me
I am not an anchor
Time has shifted me
A shattered glass
A broken past
A life left to the breeze
But if there is a method
To mend this fractured heart
I'd travel down that broken road
And make a pain-free start
Since I have seen one thousand days
And days have never changed
I walk much sure for I adore
The change that comes my way
Forever isn't twice as bad
As living with denial
A second light
A distant hope
An angel gone for now
I am not an anchor
Time has shifted me
A shattered glass
A broken past
A life left to the breeze
Some say there is a method
To mend a fractured heart
To travel down that broken road
To make a pain-free start
Since I have seen one thousand days
And days have never changed
I walk much sure for I adore
The change that comes my way
You Are Life...
To me
poem by O.S. Brooks
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Scarred Glass
The lamp that burns with affection, I bleed by self infliction - My mission not to obtain a stone on mars, the reason unknown rocks even the dust on Venus - Complimentory to solaris which features by night in the sky - Display the story of the way we will die -
The wick holds the flame to the candle, the hive which wax far too many cracks - Broken with love, one thousand slivers of scarred glass - So our life flickers, to be extinguished by the breath - Which is held by death - In her hands, seven to the billion, lost souls - To the destruction caused, seven billion, too many -
Whom will be sold, to the warmth which heats the cold
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Crash
Shattered glass
Broken dreams
A nightmare it seems
To miss a boy you loved so much
To sit at his grave and wish to hug
A shattered car is all we have
Broken hearts all around
Sit by his shattered car and frown
A cross left on the side of the road
Reminds us that time is old
Lessons learned and lessons fought
Broken dreams torn apart
Sadness holds strong in our heart.
poem by Melanie Dickie
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I Want To Die Before You
I
want to die before you.
Do you think that who passes later
will find who's gone before?
I don't think so.
You'd better have me burned,
and put me on the stove in your room
in a jar.
The jar shall be made of glass,
transparent, white glass
so that you can see me inside...
You see my sacrifice:
I renounced from being part of the earth,
I renounced from being a flower
to be able to stay with you.
And I am becoming dust,
to live with you.
Later, when you also die,
you'll come to my jar.
And we'll live there together
your ash in my ash,
until a careless bride
or an unfaithful grandson
throws us out of there...
But we
until that time
will mix
with each other
so much that
even in the garbage we are thrown into
our grains will fall side by side.
We will dive into the soil together.
And one day, if a wild flower
feeds from this piece of soil and blossoms
above its body, definitely
there will be two flowers:
one is you
one is me.
I
don't think of death yet.
I will give birth to a child.
Life is flooding from me.
My blood is boiling.
I will live, but long, very long,
but with you.
Death doesn't scare me either.
But I find our way of funeral
rather unlikable.
Until I die,
I think this will get better.
Is there a hope you'll get out of prison these days?
A voice in me says:
maybe.
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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And Forever
Forever is impossible to live
Forever is possible when
Death is reached but which life
Forever is no fear of
Death,
Forever is eternity no death
The only cure of old age
Forever is never possible only in death
But forever without death
Is null and void who ever new bff is so sort
The only forever, forever is a simple
Hour glass that’s your life line out of
Time you realize before your time
There no forever the sands of time tell
The truth there is only one
Forever after death heaven the sand of time
Are full and there is forever
poem by Marcellus Watts
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When I Depart
My body now’s only a shell, where my spirit used to dwell,
No longer in this earthly tent, up to Heaven I’ve been sent,
Though on earth I have died, I’m now by my Savior’s side,
No longer in this body friend, to begin life that has no end.
Indeed on earth, I have died, but, now my body’s glorified,
I’ve risen as my Savior said, alive in Heaven far from dead,
While lifeless my body may be, I’ve passed to life eternally,
Now from earth I’ve departed, life with God has just started.
When on this earth I see death, I shall receive eternal breath,
Entering in that heavenly portal, I’ll receive a body immortal,
A new body to begin eternal life, with my Lord, Jesus Christ,
As I enter in that Eternal Door, to be with Christ forevermore.
Death again will see me never, as I will live with God forever,
In a mansion prepared for me, that I now can touch and see,
A place surpassing all my hope, a paradise of eternal scope,
A home granted to me by grace, to sit with God face to face.
Death was just to say goodbye, to meet with God up on high,
Where one day I’ll see you there, in a paradise, without a care,
For one day soon we will reunite, to be forever in God’s Light,
As death won’t stop us friend, from life with God, with no end.
(Copyright ©11/2010)
Yesterday, today and tomorrow
Today part of my life is shattered
and lay in pieces
like a pane of broken glass.
Yesterday my wife left me,
for another man
and her children
do not any more regard me
as a father,
though I sacrificed
my life for them.
Yesterday my reputation was in ruins
and not only with the people that I know,
but across the globe
lies were spread by emails about me
to make me loose integrity.
Yesterday two cars were stolen from me
and no police could find the cars
or the villains
and the insurance
absconded from paying
with very clever clauses.
Yesterday I started doing contract work
and do not really know
from where the next job will come
and what lies ahead
for the next month or year.
Today part of my life is shattered
and lay in pieces
like a pane of broken glass,
but today I started a new life
and are free
from the persons
that impeded me.
Today I love somebody really special
that I know loves me,
today I act as I always did
with respect and integrity,
today I do my work
to the best of my ability,
today I go to interviews
and still believe
that the right permanent job will come
and today I live my life
as if it’s the last and only day.
Only the great creator knows
what tomorrow holds,
but tomorrow is safe
in His hands and I wait
while His love unfolds
with the passage of time.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Hall Of Mirrors
The young man stepped into the hall of mirrors
Where he discovered a reflection of himself
Even the greatest stars discover themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars discover themselves in the looking glass
Sometimes he saw his real face
And sometimes a stranger at his place
Even the greatest stars find their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars find their face in the looking glass
He fell in love with the image of himself
and suddenly the picture was distorted
Even the greatest stars dislike themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars dislike themselves in the looking glass
He made up the person he wanted to be
And changed into a new personality
Even the greatest stars change themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars change themselves in the looking glass
The artist is living in the mirror
With the echoes of himself
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars fix their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars fix their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
song performed by by Kraftwerk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broken Glass
Life is like glass in so many ways.
Keep it shiny and unbroken all through the days.
Glass can be new.
Glass can be old.
It doesn't matter whats told.
Every piece of glass can shine like gold.
Sometimes glass is shiny.
Some can be plain.
It's all-unique show your true style.
You have nothing to lose and all to gain.
Enjoy the sparkle of the glass because once its broken you can never piece it back.
poem by Francesca Marie
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Glass
Words of a poem should be glass
But glass so simple-subtle its shape
Is nothing but the shape of what it holds.
A glass spun for itself is empty,
Brittle, at best Venetian trinket.
Embossed glass hides the poem of its absence.
Words should be looked through, should be windows.
The best word were invisible.
The poem is the thing the poet thinks.
If the impossible were not,
And if the glass, only the glass,
Could be removed, the poem would remain.
poem by Robert Francis
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My Prime of Youth Is But a Frost of Cares
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain.
The day is gone and I yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green,
My youth is gone, and yet I am but young,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seen,
My thread is cut, and yet it was not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I look't for life and saw it was a shade,
I trode the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I am but made.
The glass is full, and now the glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
poem by Chidiock Tichborne
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On The Eve Of His Execution
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
My fruit is fallen and yet my leaves are green,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen;
My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I looked for life and saw it was a shade,
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I was but made:
My glass is full, and now my glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
poem by Chidiock Tichborne
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Elegy
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
My fruit is fallen and yet my leaves are green,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen;
My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I looked for life and saw it was a shade,
I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I was but made:
My glass is full, and now my glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
poem by Chidiock Tichborne
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1914 I: Peace
Now, God be thanked Who has watched us with His hour,
And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping,
With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,
To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,
Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move,
And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,
And all the little emptiness of love!
Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,
Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending,
Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;
Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there
But only agony, and that has ending;
And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
poem by Rupert Brooke
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I. Peace
Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour,
And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping,
With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,
To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,
Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move,
And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,
And all the little emptiness of love!
Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,
Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending,
Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;
Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there
But only agony, and that has ending;
And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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