The Meaning Of Life
doth molten steel have a memory,
a sense of past and future?
does the tree shout for joy or weep,
when it's cut down and into firewood?
does the river have a destination?
does the moth call the flame god?
does the dirt thrown on the grave
whisper kind words of farewell?
does the unconceived baby remember dying?
doth not god shutter at the name god?
do the funeral and the wedding dance arm in arm?
does the tear sound like laughter before it's cried?
is anger gentle when no one is looking?
did darkness weep when man 'discovered' fire?
is not war just a contraceptive?
is not the question the answer?
be not death the meaning of life?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Am I Evil?
Years of living peril and anguish cease
When evil was killed, by my senseless wrath
As his eyes closed and his heart decease
I smirked I smiled and innocently laughed
This man was evil and deserved to die
He made my sins look common and mundane
Deceiving all with his clandestine lie
Vulgarizing life that was holy he hath profane
The moisture of mankind as they woefully cry.
Over his sins, over the souls he doth steal
From loved ones whom love naught now
All the life of love, and its ardent zeal
This man took by the hand of death and how?
He killed, pillaged and with life he stripped
With rage in his eyes as red as fire
He strangled and with knife in hand ripped
The flesh of love, the flesh of desire
With no conscience to judge or heart to feel
This man was evil for evil in him doth be
The dead man, for death in him was real
And death all around him is all he did see…
But his wife sobs and his son doth weep
And in me I marvel at death and happy to kill
Does evil cry? No! than why doth people cry over evil
And me cry naught; did the devil tempt me?
Is evil like a disease, that is contagious and viral?
Hath evil infected me, could I evil, truelly be?
For they weep for an evil man
And no man weep for me, and me not weep
I am evil, for this man's evil doth evil be
in me in my will deep....
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Upon A Lowering Of Morning
Well, with the day I see the clouds appear,
And mix the light with darkness everywhere;
This threatening is, to travellers that go
Long journeys, slabby rain they'll have, or snow.
Else, while I gaze, the sun doth with his beams
Belace the clouds, as 'twere with bloody streams;
This done, they suddenly do watery grow,
And weep, and pour their tears out where they go.
Comparison.
Thus 'tis when gospel light doth usher in
To us both sense of grace and sense of sin;
Yea, when it makes sin red with Christ's blood,
Then we can weep till weeping does us good.
poem by John Bunyan
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Upon The Skilfull Player Of An Instrument
He that can play well on an instrument,
Will take the ear, and captivate the mind
With mirth or sadness; for that it is bent
Thereto, as music in it place doth find.
But if one hears that hath therein no skill,
(As often music lights of such a chance)
Of its brave notes they soon be weary will:
And there are some can neither sing nor dance.
Comparison.
Unto him that thus skilfully doth play,
God doth compare a gospel-minister,
That rightly preacheth, and doth godly pray,
Applying truly what doth thence infer.
This man, whether of wrath or grace he preach,
So skilfully doth handle every word;
And by his saying doth the heart so reach,
That it doth joy or sigh before the Lord.
But some there be, which, as the brute, doth lie
Under the Word, without the least advance
Godward; such do despise the ministry;
They weep not at it, neither to it dance.
poem by John Bunyan
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I Will Remember You
Chorus:
I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories.
I'm so tired
I can't sleep
Standing on the edge of something
Much to deep.
It's funny how we feel so much
And cannot say a word
We're screaming inside
But we can't be heard
Chorus:
I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories.
So afraid to love you
More afraid to loose
Clinging to past
That doesn't let me choose.
Well, once there was a darkness
A deep and endless night
You gave me everything
You gave me light.
Chorus:
I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories.
Remember all
The good times that we had
Let them slip away from us
And things got bad.
Clearly I first saw you
Smiling in the sun
I want to feel your warmth
I want to be the one.
Chorus:
I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories.
Chorus:
I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories.
Weep not for the memories.
The memories...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Another's Sorrow
Can I see another’s woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another’s grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow’s share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd?
Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird’s grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear,
And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast;
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant’s tear;
And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
O, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
He doth give His joy to all;
He becomes an infant small;
He becomes a man of woe;
He doth feel the sorrow too.
Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not near.
O! He gives to us His joy
That our grief he may destroy;
Till our grief is fled & gone
He doth sit by us and moan.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Frost-King - Song I
We are sending you, dear flowers
Forth alone to die,
Where your gentle sisters may not weep
O'er the cold graves where you lie;
But you go to bring them fadeless life
In the bright homes where they dwell,
And you softly smile that't is so,
As we sadly sing farewell.
O plead with gentle words for us,
And whisper tenderly
Of generous love to that cold heart,
And it will answer ye;
And though you fade in a dreary home,
Yet loving hearts will tell
Of the joy and peace that you have given:
Flowers, dear flowers, farewell!
poem by Louisa May Alcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Frost-King' Song 1
We are sending you, dear flowers
Forth alone to die,
Where your gentle sisters may not weep
O'er the cold graves where you lie;
But you go to bring them fadeless life
In the bright homes where they dwell,
And you softly smile that't is so,
As we sadly sing farewell.
O plead with gentle words for us,
And whisper tenderly
Of generous love to that cold heart,
And it will answer ye;
And though you fade in a dreary home,
Yet loving hearts will tell
Of the joy and peace that you have given:
Flowers, dear flowers, farewell!
poem by Louisa May Alcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flowers, Dear Flowers, Farewell!
'We are sending you, dear flowers,
Forth alone to die,
Where your gentle sisters may not weep
O'er the cold graves where you lie;
But you go to bring them fadeless life
In the bright homes where they dwell,
And you softly smile that 't is so,
As we sadly sing farewell.
O plead with gentle words for us,
And whisper tenderly
Of generous love to that cold heart,
And it will answer ye;
And though you fade in a dreary home,
Yet loving hearts will tell
Of the joy and peace that you have given:
Flowers, dear flowers, farewell!'
poem by Louisa May Alcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Nativity of Christ
Behold the father is his daughter's son,
The bird that built the nest is hatched therein,
The old of years an hour hath not outrun,
Eternal life to live doth now begin,
The Word is dumb, the mirth of heaven doth weep,
Might feeble is, and force doth faintly creep.
O dying souls, behold your living spring;
O dazzled eyes, behold your sun of grace;
Dull ears, attend what word this Word doth bring;
Up, heavy hearts, with joy your joy embrace.
From death, from dark, from deafness, from despairs
This life, this light, this Word, this joy repairs.
Gift better than himself God doth not know;
Gift better than his God no man can see.
This gift doth here the giver given bestow;
Gift to this gift let each receiver be.
God is my gift, himself he freely gave me;
God's gift am I, and none but God shall have me.
Man altered was by sin from man to beast;
Beast's food is hay, hay is all mortal flesh.
Now God is flesh and lies in manger pressed
As hay, the brutest sinner to refresh.
O happy field wherein that fodder grew,
Whose taste doth us from beasts to men renew.
poem by Robert Southwell
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Weep Day
I never went to the tropical island
Though everybody said they saw me there
And it wasnt me you punched a hole in
At the west german protest march
Simultaneous events dont happen
We are isolated temporally
And a part is never called the whole thing
Though it bothers us to know its so
Every man is made of two opinions
Every woman has a second half
And its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
Yes, its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
I didnt write the words you hear me singing (didnt write the words you hear me singing)
I didnt sing the line before this one (didnt sing the line before this one)
You are not the one I was addressing (you are not the one I was addressing)
That person took a train to africa (africa)
Where he met the consulate from belgium
Who is now a buddhist in a cave
Who is pitching for the oakland raiders
Striking out the batter she became
Every man is made of two opinions
Every woman has a second half
And its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
Yes, its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
Yes, its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
Weep day for urine man (weep day for urine man)
Weep day for urine man (weep day for urine man)
Weep day for urine man (weep day for urine man)
Weep day weep day
Weep day weep day
Weep day weep day
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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855-7019
Ive discovered for myself this time
The start of everything to me
Is to know our love is older than the sea
But dont let another flame inside
Your fire-proof heart
cause Im not your full-time lover
And its tearing me apart
Ive been hangin on this line too long
855-7019
Dont you ever answer
855-7019
Dont you hear the word
Search for a sign , baby
She was the past and the future
I just got burned
855-7019
Is a private number
I know in your mind that you think
Its a crime, but I had to call
First and last , there will
Never be a past or a future
If you kill my phone
Baby lifts her eyes
And Im a slave to all the lies
And Im forever lost
I believe in you and me
Together and it keeps this love alive
855-7019
Dont you ever answer
855-7019
Dont you hear the word
Search for the sign , baby
She was the past and the future
I just got burned
I have suffered for my sins today
With the pain of love
Before the dawning comes
The darker is the night
Im born to be the one to share your life
That shows I dont need no operator
I dont want no one to know
How much I need you
855-7019
Dont you ever answer
I know in your mind that you think
Its a crime , but I had to call
First and the last , there will
Never be a past or a future
If you kill my phone
Baby lifts her eyes and Im a slave to all the lies
And Im forever lost
I believe in you and me together
And it keeps this love alive
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song from Aella
O SING unto my roundelay,
O drop the briny tear with me;
Dance no more at holyday,
Like a running river be:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Black his cryne as the winter night,
White his rode as the summer snow,
Red his face as the morning light,
Cole he lies in the grave below:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note,
Quick in dance as thought can be,
Deft his tabor, cudgel stout;
O he lies by the willow-tree!
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Hark! the raven flaps his wing
In the brier'd dell below;
Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing
To the nightmares, as they go:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
See! the white moon shines on high;
Whiter is my true-love's shroud:
Whiter than the morning sky,
Whiter than the evening cloud:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Here upon my true-love's grave
Shall the barren flowers be laid;
Not one holy saint to save
All the coldness of a maid:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
With my hands I'll dent the briers
Round his holy corse to gre:
Ouph and fairy, light your fires,
Here my body still shall be:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
Come, with acorn-cup and thorn,
Drain my heartès blood away;
Life and all its good I scorn,
Dance by night, or feast by day:
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.
poem by Thomas Chatterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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On The Brook Of Right
Bang, bang, bang
Rifle sound over the brook of right.
The earth bows and sweet heavens weep.
Shout of death and laughter of happiness is craze.
Sound of red moon cry to pervert,
While scorching sun quells to leave no peace behind.
Trees over the hills marries the chanting sound of joy,
With the maim of serious rivers and dried streams.
Woes unto the wind as it strife,
To contend with breathing seas.
In the silent evening which is better than death
Is flog to die.
The sky clasp with sinking ocean,
And the wind arid to air bodies.
Bang, bang, bang
On the battlefield they sound.
Boom, boom, boom
No life, no hope and days decay with silent evening
Dying seem so long but here it homes away sweetness
As with the muggy weather and perils of Dead Sea.
Begotters weep there souls out as the fruit of their labor,
For no just cause they suffer.
Black cloud covers the beautiful light from the sun,
As souls weep in the abyss of death.
Brooding machines, fear hives as they approach,
Trotting over the very earth they curse.
As there leaders blithe with disregard for their very cause.
Boom, boom, boom
In the air they deafen.
poem by Samuel Donkor
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The Furious Gun
The furious gun in his raging ire,
When that the bowl is rammed in too sore
And that the flame cannot part from the fire,
Cracketh in sunder, and in the air doth roar
The shivered pieces; right so doth my desire,
Whose flame increaseth from more to more,
Which to let out I dare not look or speak;
So now hard force my heart doth all to break.
poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt
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Reckless Fury
Running, flaming, chasing
Watching the dust fly
Feeling only anger
Doesn't smile and doesn't cry
Freedom isn't everything
When you're only free to live
Sometimes life just takes it back
Whatever it has to give
Reckless fire, maniac fury
Eyes of flame and heart of steel
Not knowing what to be fighting for
These wounds will never heal
Never tire and never bleed
Invincible throughout
Each fight is like a paradise
Going without a doubt
Never born and never dying
A mere presence of the mind
What you can't even comprehend
Is what gives you the time
The time to breathe, the time to think
The time to hear this out
The time to run, the time to hide
The time to raise a shout
Reckless fire, maniac fury
Someone stop it before it's too late
The stars will fall and the moon will too
It's time to set this straight
No matter how long you keep fighting
This will one day end
The fire I can see so deep in your eyes
The fire only you can send
Stopping you, pushing you
Into the dirt
This time it's finally through
The reckless fire, the maniac fury
I've discovered it was just you
The Negro Boy
Paupertas onus visa est grave.
Cold blows the wind, and while the tear
Bursts trembling from my swollen eyes,
The rain's big drop, quick meets it there,
And on my naked bosom flies!
O pity, all ye sons of Joy,
The little wand'ring Negro-boy.
These tatter'd clothes, this ice-cold breast
By Winter harden'd into steel,
These eyes, that know not soothing rest,
But speak the half of what I feel!
Long, long, I never new one joy,
The little wand'ring Negro-boy!
Cannot the sigh of early grief
Move but one charitable mind?
Cannot one hand afford relief?
One Christian pity, and be kind?
Weep, weep, for thine was never joy,
O little wand'ring Negro-boy!
Is there a good which men call Pleasure?
O Ozmyn, would that it were thine!
Give me this only precious treasure;
How it would soften grief like mine!
Then Ozmyn might be call'd, with joy,
The little wand'ring Negro-boy!
My limbs these twelve long years have borne
The rage of ev'ry angry wind:
Yet still does Ozmyn weep and mourn,
Yet still no ease, no rest can find!
Then death, alas, must soon destroy
The little wand'ring Negro-boy!
No sorrow e'er disturbs the rest,
That dwells within the lonely grave;
Thou best resource, the wo-wrung breast
E'er ask'd of Heav'n, or Heav'n e'er gave!
Ah then, farewell, vain world, with joy
I die the happy Negro-boy!
poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
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O death, rock me on sleep
O death! rock me on sleep,
Bring me on quiet rest;
Yet pass my guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast:
Toll on the passing bell,
Ring out the doleful knell,
Let the sound of my death tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy,
For now I die.
My pains who can express?
Alas! they are so strong,
My dolor will not suffer strength
My life for to prolong:
Toll on the passing bell, etc.
Alone, in prison strong,
I wail my destiny,
Wo worth this cruel hap that I
Should taste this misery:
Toll on the passing bell, etc.
Farewell my pleasures past,
Welcome my present pain;
I feel my torments so increase
That life cannot remain.
Cease now the passing bell,
Rung is my doleful knell,
For the sound my death doth tell,
Death doth draw nigh,
Sound my end dolefully,
For now I die.
poem by Anne Boleyn (1536)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Love Inducin Christian Conduct
When understand my meaning by my words,
How sense of mercy unto faith affords
Both grace to sanctify, and holy make
That soul that of forgiveness doth partake.
Thus having briefly showed you what is
The way of life, or sanctity, of bliss,
I would not in conclusion have you think,
By what I say, that Christian men should drink
In these my words with lightness, or that they
Are now exempted from what every day
Their duty is. No, God doth still expect,
Yea, doth command, that they do not neglect
To pray, to read, to hear, and not dissent
From being sober, grave, and diligent
In watching, self-denial, and with fear
To serve him all the time thou livest here.
Indeed I have endeavoured to lay
Before your eyes the right and only way
Pardon to get, and also holiness,
Without which never think that God will bless
Thee with the kingdom he will give to those
That Christ embrace, and holy lives do choose
To live, while here all others go astray,
And shall in time to come be cast away.
poem by John Bunyan
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Weep Not My Love
Weep not for me when I am gone,
weep not for me as life is never long.
Weep not for me as you must live
and be ever strong.
Our love will last eternally
and when you need me, I will be there.
I will be that whisper in your ear,
that whisper that no one else can hear.
Weep not for me my love
you must be strong and live your life long.
Even though I am gone weep not for me
as this is a phase, we all one day must go through.
Though I go first, my love never fear
for when your time come I’ll be waiting here for you.
16 September 2009
poem by David Harris
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Ding A Ding
‘Ding a ding,’
The sweet bells sing,
And say:
‘Come, all be gay’
For a wedding day.
‘Dong a dong,’
The bells sigh long,
And call:
‘Weep one, weep all’
For a funeral.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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