The Sick Rose
O rose thou art sick,
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy :
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Experience (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Rose For Me
Oh little worm
stay away from my rose.
Find somewhere else
to bring your woes.
My rose has petals
not made for you.
My rose grows beautifully
for me to view.
My rose wants to live
to bring me joy,
never for a worm
to come and destroy.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Love Me Not 06
Love me not as thou would love the moon and stars
Love me not as thou would love an immortal godess
Love me as thou would love a mystery, a shadow
Love me as thou would love a secret, a rose
Love me not to die for me
Love me not as thine own
Love me as thou loves life, as the beautiful unknown
Love me as I am with out question, with out sorrow
Love me not as thou would love the moon and stars
Love me not as an immortal goddess
Love me as thou would love a secret, a shadow
Love me more as each layer, each petal unfolds
poem by Kira Bloom
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The Messenger Rose
If you have seen a richer glow,
Pray, tell me where your roses blow!
Look! coral-leaved! and -- mark these spots
Red staining red in crimson clots,
Like a sweet lip bitten through
In a pique. There, where that hue
Is spilt in drops, some fairy thing
Hath gashed the azure of its wing,
Or thence, perhaps, this very morn,
Plucked the splinters of a thorn.
Rose! I make thy bliss my care!
In my lady's dusky hair
Thou shalt burn this coming night,
With even a richer crimson light.
To requite me thou shalt tell --
What I might not say as well --
How I love her; how, in brief,
On a certain crimson leaf
In my bosom, is a debt
Writ in deeper crimson yet.
If she wonder what it be --
But she'll guess it, I foresee --
Tell her that I date it, pray,
From the first sweet night in May.
poem by Henry Timrod
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Where found Love his yesterday?
WHERE found Love his yesterday?
When is Love's to-morrow? say.
Love has only now.
We can swear it, we who stand
In Love's present, hand in hand,
Thou and I, dear, I and thou.
By and by and Long ago;
Last month's buds, next winter's snow;
Love has only now.
Do we wot of rathe or sere
In Love's boundless summer year,
Thou and I, dear, I and thou?
Suns that rose and suns to set;
Gone for ever and Not yet;
Love has always now.
Do we count by dawn and night,
Dwelling in Love's perfect light,
Thou and I, dear, I and thou?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Dark Night
Dark dark night storm over me
Dark night is a holy blur
Dark dark night stop taunting me
Dark night and I think of her
Dark dark night I'm so lonely
Dark night why leave in me such a mess
Dark dark night I feel so much
Dark night filled with nothingness
Dark dark night please please
Bring the light
poem by Ary Bolanos
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In Thou dark stormy Night
All alone in the night
All alone with my own fright
A lightning strikes, runs across the dead black sky
I am alone
but I wonder, why?
In Thou dark stormy night
In Thou dark stormy night
I call your name with all my might
All alone hanging in the night
My arms are sore, my soul is light
I hear the thunder, in the cloudy black sky
I am scared
but I don't know, why?
In Thou dark stormy night
in Thou dark stormy night
I call your name with all my might
Inside Your house in the night
Calling Your name with all my might
Father! Father! Why have you forsaken me?
'You must die so my people can be free.'
In Thou dark stormy night
In Thou dark stormy night
Jesus drew his final breath
Saving us all from our own eternal death
poem by Summer Song
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A dark secrete
I have a big dark secret, stored deep inside of me
should i tell? should i not? what should it be?
for every day that comes, this big dark secret grows
and the fear that i live in takes ahold
it will not go, this big dark secret
it must be told, this big dark secret
so why have i waited for so long?
life will never get better if i just play along
because this big dark secret destroys my life
and it must be told, no matter what the price
poem by Kat Temple
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The Last Prayer
MASTER of life, the day is done;
My sun of life is sinking low;
I watch the hours slip one by one
And hark the night-wind and the snow.
And must Thou shut the morning out,
And dim the eye that loved to see;
Silence the melody and rout,
And seal the joys of earth for me?
And must Thou banish all the hope,
The large horizon's eagle-swim,
The splendour of the far-off slope
That ran about the world's great rim,
That rose with morning's crimson rays
And grew to noonday's gloried dome,
Melting to even's purple haze
When all the hopes of earth went home?
Yea, Master of this ruined house,
The mortgage closed, outruns the lease;
Long since is hushed the gay carouse,
And now the windowed lights must cease.
The doors all barred, the shutters up,
Dismantled, empty, wall and floor,
And now for one grim eve to sup
With Death, the bailiff, at the door.
Yea, I will take the gloomward road
Where fast the Arctic nights set in,
To reach the bourne of that abode
Which Thou hast kept for all my kin.
And all life's splendid joys forego,
Walled in with night and senseless stone,
If at the last my heart might know
Through all the dark one joy alone.
Yea, Thou mayst quench the latest spark
Of life's weird day's expectancy,
Roll down the thunders of the dark
And close the light of life for me;
Melt all the splendid blue above
And let these magic wonders die,
If Thou wilt only leave me, Love,
And Love's heart-brother, Memory.
Though all the hopes of every race
Crumbled in one red crucible,
And melted, mingled into space,
Yet, Master, Thou wert merciful.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Still Dark Like The One Last Night
a dark rose growing from a dark
concrete crevice of
this deserted building
on a dark night
spreading its dark petals
for dark dreams
on a fine morning
when darkness
is gone
the dark rose
comes out in the open
to meet the sun
embracing it
with so much light
turning into something
sort of a blood reddish
colored rose
something like
glowing
but still dark
like the one last night.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dark Rose
a dark rose growing from a dark
concrete crevice of
this deserted building
on a dark night
spreading its dark petals
for dark dreams
on a fine morning
when darkness
is gone
the dark rose
comes out in the open
to meet the sun
embracing it
with so much light
turning into something
sort of a blood reddish
colored rose
something like
glowing
but still dark
like the one last night.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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369.still Dark Like The One Last Night
a dark rose growing from a dark
concrete crevice of
this deserted building
on a dark night
spreading its dark petals
for dark dreams
on a fine morning
when darkness
is gone
the dark rose
comes out in the open
to meet the sun
embracing it
with so much light
turning into something
sort of a blood reddish
colored rose
something like
glowing
but still dark
like the one last night.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Anguish Thoughts
I saw a flower
Not so fresh, enchanting
It has no sweet smell as roses have.
But it has the thorns of roses.
If I touch a flower
I can tell its soft or rough
But all flowers are soft
Soft petals with sweet fragrance
Make a flower beloved.
But I can’t touch this flower
For it is dangerous.
But worms found its bed
And going to destroy my little flower.
Can this secret love
Destroy her crimson petals?
poem by Abdul Hakeem Parannur
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Song. A Beautiful Mistress.
IF when the sun at noon displays
His brighter rays,
Thou but appear,
He then, all pale with shame and fear,
Quencheth his light,
Hides his dark brow, flies from thy sight,
And grows more dim,
Compared to thee, than stars to him.
If thou but show thy face again,
When darkness doth at midnight reign,
The darkness flies, and light is hurl'd
Round about the silent world :
So as alike thou driv'st away
Both light and darkness, night and day.
poem by Thomas Carew
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Speak O Withered Leaves, Speak.
Cover her eyes, her stony looks,
She is dead;
And ring the bell for she is dead
Where one age ends the other begins
-the long dark distracted night.
How could she die, a fairy and so young
O want what more misery can thou wring
Two crusts of bread and a form erased.
O withered leaves wert thou a rose?
Could beauty be more beautiful
I cans't say my fancy fails.
How could I describe thee
Which part were more beautiful
Speak o speak utter but few words
But no; thou woulds't not speak
And I hear no more thy sweet voice.
O breathless breast thou woulds't heave no more,
But once did heave more beautifully
Than stormy waves of a surging sea
On a moonlit night.
O wild affections whither art thou fled?
Aren't these the eyes that charged me once
Quiver o lips quiver a little,
That I may see that a life yet lives:
Utter but few words even though in dread
Of this society; but dread not thou
-no more- this society.
But where is life?
Thou blush not in the presence of thy love;
Thine eyes have no more arrows in their sheath;
Thou breathe not and there are springs no more;
Adieu love! Adieu o phantom of love
For I go crazy, I must go.
But tarry for I must see
Art thou really dead or stone deceiveth me
O senses work- Touch!
So cold and hard is bosom! Is it marble!
May be stone deceiveth me! But no
No art can create thy form, O love
And mine eyes are not deceived in thy form.
Ere I leave I give thou this pledge:
That I shall have revenge
I shall shake heavens and destroy this earth
Yes! this earth
Where beasts who live, value their lust
Above humane emotions.
Adieu love! look not so coldly
For I see my end. Adieu! Adieu! ...............[1960]
Crimson Insane
Crimson Love,
who can this be,
Not I,
not you,
nor anybody,
look to crimson so enviously,
smile and grin,
look what you could have been,
Look at crimson now
what do you see?
Falling apart,
a crimson mind shackled yet free,
I'm losing it..... realities touch,
I'm going insane, this life is to much,
Forget all this... but memories remain,
I laugh at the humor, that is crimson insane.
poem by Crimson Love
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A Little Budding Rose
It was a little budding rose,
Round like a fairy globe,
And shyly did its leaves unclose
Hid in their mossy robe,
But sweet was the slight and spicy smell
It breathed from its heart invisible.
The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,
Its root has felt a worm,
And like a heart beloved and slighted,
Failed, faded, shrunk its form.
Bud of beauty, bonnie flower,
I stole thee from thy natal bower.
I was the worm that withered thee,
Thy tears of dew all fell for me;
Leaf and stalk and rose are gone,
Exile earth they died upon.
Yes, that last breath of balmy scent
With alien breezes sadly blent!
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
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My Light Thou Art
My light thou art, without thy glorious sight
My eyes are darkened with eternal night;
My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light.
Thou art my way, I wander if thou fly;
Thou art my light, if hid, how blind am I!
Thou art my life, if thou withdraw'st I die.
Thou art my life; if thou but turn away,
My life's a thousand deaths. Thou art my way;
Without thee, Love, I travel not, but stray.
poem by Lord John Wilmot
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I Hath Two Lives; The Life Thou See and The Life Of Me
I hath two lives; the life thou see and the life of me
Wert my beauty reigns like a gentle fall night
Hidden beneath mine soul, lost but free
From the judgment of man and perceptions sight
There mine love marvels at its own strength
As thou see me meek and deathly silent
My love immeasurable surpasses earthly length
As thou see me give up, but in secret resilient
Mine deep secret is mine nature; the beauty she hide
Sensed by the intuition of art's vivacious mind
To my poems, my poetic soul, mine love confide
My sympathy, my empathy, my disposition kind
But to the world, thou deserve my anger, mine hate
For thou sin, has sinned, and cast me to thy fate
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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The Grave Yard
My heart grows sick before the wide-spread death,
That walks and speaks in seeming life around;
And I would love the corse without a breath,
That sleeps forgotten 'neath the cold, cold ground;
For these do tell the story of decay,
The worm and rotten flesh hide not nor lie;
But this, though dying too from day to day,
With a false show doth cheat the longing eye;
And hide the worm that gnaws the core of life,
With painted cheek and smooth deceitful skin;
Covering a grave with sights of darkness rife,
A secret cavern filled with death and sin;
And men walk o'er these graves and know it not,
For in the body's health the soul's forgot.
poem by Jones Very
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I do not want to be sick..
You are not evil,
but you are sick,
when you do it.
You are not potent,
but slowly become impotent,
when you do ti.
You would not destroy the bad feelings,
but destroy your brain cells, when you do it.
Lucky human may escape
from the notoriety of hallucinogens.
Unlucky ones suffer
until become paupers.
Do not do it in secret,
as none see you.
you may feel good,
you may feel strong,
you may dance whole day,
you make love whole night,
but when the day arrives,
to warn you,
to drown you,
to mess up you.
You will be left in pain
you will be left alone.
as no human like to be related
with drug addict like you,
who have misunderstood,
the drugs and substances,
for medicine.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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