En.Citatepedia^®.ro

To Lucifer

Lend your flame to the spirit, glowing gloom;

Sighing the head rises into midnight,

At the greening spring hill; where before

A gentle lamb bled, endured the deepest

Pain; but the dark one follows the shadow

Of evil, or he lifts the moist wings

To the golden disk of the sun and a sound of bells

Convulses his pain-torn breast,

Wild hope; the sinisterness of flaming fall.

poem by Georg Trakl
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Please

Send your flames to the spirit, when it endures,

Imprisoned sighs in black midnight,

Near the spring hill, when the gentle lamb

Offers itself, the deepest pain endures;

O love that rises in the heart

Like a round light and endures a soft shape,

So that this earthen vessel breaks.

poem by Georg Trakl
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Down in the dark

Down in the dark, it’s all in my head,
The pain the sorrow, all of the dread,

I want it to leave, but it wants to stay,
I try and I try, but he won’t go away,
There by day, there at night,
Saying the things, that fills me with fright,

I’m down in the dark, it fills my head,
The pain the sorrow, all of the dread,

He’s always around, lurking inside,
Watching; waiting, my hands are tied,
In my head, always near,
In my thoughts, building the fear,

Down in the dark, filling my head,
The pain the sorrow, all of the dread,

The pain; it grows, bursting within,
The dark; he’s back, with his terror filled grin,
“I’ll help”; he says, talking to me,
“I know what to do, just come and see, ”

Down in the dark, it filled my head,
The pain the sorrow, all of the dread,

My thoughts are violent, with sorrow in my chest,
I just close my eyes, and hope for the best,
He tells me good job, I’ll find the light,
But my life is ending, with the chill of the night.,

Dead in the dark, lost in my head,
No more pain or sorrow, not even dread….,

poem by Jacob Hill
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Torn Butterfly

Torn butterfly torn butterfly
Seeing you there it makes me cry
Torn butterfly your wings they tore
From the weight that they bore
Torn butterfly it's plain to see
That you are just the same as me
Torn butterfly the world is tough
Hard as stones and just as rough
Torn butterfly I know your pain
And I don't want to know it again
Torn butterfly come join me now
And we'll regain our wings somehow
Torn butterfly it's sad but true
In death our wings become brand new
Torn butterfly just fade away
And we will fly this very day
Torn butterfly this note I send
And hope that you will cause your end
So we can fly in clear blue skies
Where no one hurts and no one cries
Torn butterfly with my last breath
I ask you to come join me in death

poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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Die Sunflowers

You golden sunflowers,

Tenderly inclined toward death,

You sisters full of humility

In such stillness

Helian's year

Of mountainous coolness ends.

Then his drunken forehead

Pales from kisses

Amid those golden

Flowers of gloom

The spirit is determined

By silent sinisterness.

poem by Georg Trakl
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The Dark Hill

On dark hill, in moonlight
A lone stranger struggles through the night
With hopes dashed and dreams torn asunder
Though dark flowers he slowly wanders
And looks around trying to find
A little space and piece of mind.

But the dark hill is unforgiving
And no escape or hope its giving
The dark flowers turn and scream
To remind him that its just a dream
Lost inside a world of pain
One day hoping to be whole again

The darkness is always in your own mind
Never ending and making you blind
The dark hill takes and leaves nothing behind
Nothing but the emptiness of your own desire.

So on the dark hill the man continues
All alone on his weary journey
To find the peace he so deserves

poem by Monkee Thompson
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The Final Confessions II

These were my confessions
(A message to God)
The light begins to fade
(It’s time to go)
Back into the shadows
(That hard black fog)
Where darkness has its way
(God rest your soul)

Nothing left to tell you
(It’s all been said)
No more songs to write
(This silent Fall)
Nothing left to offer
(The well’s been bled)
From a shadow’s waning life
(Who lost it all)

Take my words and hold them
(Don’t be afraid)
Place them near your heart
(And heal your pain)
Shadow words will kiss you
(And heal your pain)
When your world turns dark
(Don’t’ be afraid)

And I kiss you
Kiss you
I kiss you in the dark

poem by Catman Cohen
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1866 -- Addressed To The Old Year

Art thou not glad to close
Thy wearied eyes, O saddest child of Time,
Eyes which have looked on every mortal crime,
And swept the piteous round of mortal woes?

In dark Plutonian caves,
Beneath the lowest deep, go, hide thy head;
Or earth thee where the blood that thou hast shed
May trickle on thee from thy countless graves!

Take with thee all thy gloom
And guilt, and all our griefs, save what the breast,
Without a wrong to some dear shadowy guest,
May not surrender even to the tomb.

No tear shall weep thy fall,
When, as the midnight bell doth toll thy fate,
Another lifts the sceptre of thy state,
And sits a monarch in thine ancient hall.

HIM all the hours attend,
With a new hope like morning in their eyes;
Him the fair earth and him these radiant skies
Hail as their sovereign, welcome as their friend.

Him, too, the nations wait;
"O lead us from the shadow of the Past,"
In a long wail like this December blast,
They cry, and, crying, grow less desolate.

How he will shape his sway
They ask not -- for old doubts and fears will cling --
And yet they trust that, somehow, he will bring
A sweeter sunshine than thy mildest day.

Beneath his gentle hand
They hope to see no meadow, vale, or hill
Stained with a deeper red than roses spill,
When some too boisterous zephyr sweeps the land.

A time of peaceful prayer,
Of law, love, labor, honest loss and gain --
These are the visions of the coming reign
Now floating to them on this wintry air.

poem by Henry Timrod
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Mitsuo, What Do You See?

When your spirit goes
to the glowing
edge

do you feel terror
as you hunger for
air?

What do you see
in that bright, distant
light?

Do you gaze through dark pain
into heaven’s living
flame?

poem by Steven Federle
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What Evil Is

Evil waits,
As silent as nothing,
Held in a frail wooden cage,
Waiting to be unleashed.

Evil is a shadow,
Dark and foreboding.
An anger,
Following in our footsteps.

Evil is a wound,
Raw and bleeding.
A deep cut,
Walking hand in hand with pain.

Evil is a blazing flame,
Burning and consuming.
A flicker of destruction,
Unpredictable.

Evil is a cracked image,
The reflection in a smashed mirror.
A twisted reflection,
Of ourselves.

poem by Jez Wong
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Whoo-hooo

View of the world altered by inflicted pain
No one can blow out flame
Still zeal for life
In flight much stronger
Graceful, gentle flapping of wings
Soaring higher altitude
Where no man's arrow can reach!
Alive, glowing, untouchable!

poem by Persian Khushi
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Earth’s Moments Of Gloom

“The heart knoweth its own bitterness”

The heart hath its moments of hopeless gloom,
As rayless as is the dark night of the tomb;
When the past has no spell, the future no ray,
To chase the sad cloud from the spirit away;
When earth, though in all her rich beauty arrayed,
Hath a gloom o’er her flowers—o’er her skies a dark shade,
And we turn from all pleasure with loathing away,
Too downcast, too spirit sick, even to pray!

Oh! where may the heart seek, in moments like this,
A whisper of hope, or a faint gleam of bliss?
When friendship seems naught but a cold, cheerless flame,
And love a still falser and emptier name;
When honors and wealth are a wearisome chain,
Each link interwoven with grief and with pain,
And each solace or joy that the spirit might crave
Is barren of comfort and dark as the grave.

Lift—lift up thy sinking heart, pilgrim of life!
A sure spell there is for thy spirit’s sad strife;
’Tis not to be found in the well-springs of earth,—
Oh! no, ’tis of higher and holier birth.

poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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My Pain is Deeper than...

My pain is deeper than the deepest of any oceans.
My pain is deeper than the deepest of any cuts.
My pain is deeper than the deepest of love.
My pain is deeper than the deepest of caves.
My pain is deeper than the deepest of holes.

poem by Carmela Kazmier
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I Wish I Was By That Dim Lake

I wish I was by that dim Lake,
Where sinful souls their farewell take
Of this vain world, and half-way lie
In death's cold shadow, ere they die.
There, there, far from thee,
Deceitful world, my home should be;
Where, come what might of gloom and pain,
False hope should n'er deceive again.

The lifeless sky, the mournful sound
Of unseen waters falling round;
The dry leaves, quivering o'er my head,
Like man, unquiet even when dead!
These, ay, these shall wean
My soul from life's deluding scene,
And turn each thought, o'ercharged with gloom
Like willows, downward towards the tomb.

As they, who to their couch at night
Would win repose, first quench the light,
So must the hopes, that keep this breast
Awake, be quench'd, ere it can rest.
Cold, cold, this heart must grow,
Unmmoved by either joy or woe,
Like freezing founts, where all that's thrown
Within their current turns to stone.

poem by Thomas Moore
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My Kind of Pain

I heard that pain has 3 categories
1st is insignificant and mild
2nd is managable and bearable
3rd is decapitating and wild 

I don't think my pain exists
Alas I do not feel either three
My pain is different from them
Something only felt by me

My pain is harsh and numbing
It's cold as ice and hot as fire
It's pericing as a dagger and knife
It diminishes all you may desire

My pain doesn't originate from my body
My pain doesn't originate from my brain
My pain is deep within my soul
And my soul's essence it will drain

My pain will perice ur shield
My pain will claim ur short life
My pain will cause you great agony
My pain will involve immeasurable strife

It is strong in its consumption
It pulls u away from light & hope
It seeks to destroy what u hold dear
And drags u in an downward slope

Its intensity is so tangible
You can see it take a form
Of ur dark & deepest fears
It will be able to transform

It haunts ur days & nights
It spreads terror down ur spine
It hurts & taunts in evey way
Its anything but benigin

I heard there were 3 categories
But now im adding 4
My kind of pain exists
It's something u can't ignore

poem by Monlano Amir
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Pain...What is it?

Pain...What is pain?
Pain...get wrapped in the head with a baseball bat,
That could be called pain.
Pain...get kicked in the gut by a cowboy boot,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...poke a needle in your eye,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...get your fingers caught in a motorcycle chain,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...jump in front of a train,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...lose control while flyin' a plane,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...There ain't ever no gain in pain.

poem by Axe Timson
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Fire-flowers

And only where the forest fires have sped,
Scorching relentlessly the cool north lands,
A sweet wild flower lifts its purple head,
And, like some gentle spirit sorrow-fed,
It hides the scars with almost human hands.

And only to the heart that knows of grief,
Of desolating fire, of human pain,
There comes some purifying sweet belief,
Some fellow-feeling beautiful, if brief.
And life revives, and blossoms once again

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Peace

The red-rose flush fades slowly in the west.
The golden water, basking in the light,
Pales to clear amber and to silver white.
The velvet shadow of a flame-crowned crest
Lies dark and darker on its shining breast,
Till lonely mere and isle and mountain-height
Grow dim as dreams in tender mist of night,
And all is tranquil as a babe at rest.

So still! So calm! Will our life's eve come thus?
No sound of strife, of labour or of pain,
No ring of woodman's axe, no dip of oar.
Will work be done, and night's rest earned, for us?
And shall we wake to see sunrise again?
Or shall we sleep, to see and know no more?

poem by Ada Cambridge
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Grodek

At evening the autumn woodlands ring
With deadly weapons. Over the golden plains
And lakes of blue, the sun
More darkly rolls. The night surrounds
Warriors dying and the wild lament
Of their fragmented mouths.
Yet silently there gather in the willow combe
Red clouds inhabited by an angry god,
Shed blood, and the chill of the moon.
All roads lead to black decay.
Under golden branching of the night and stars
A sister's shadow sways through the still grove
To greet the heroes' spirits, the bloodied heads.
And softly in the reeds Autumn's dark flutes resound.
O prouder mourning! - You brazen altars,
The spirit's hot flame is fed now by a tremendous pain:
The grandsons, unborn.

poem by Georg Trakl
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The Enkindled Spring

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that’s gone astray, and is lost.

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Love in Twilight

There is darkness behind the light -- and the pale light drips
Cold on vague shapes and figures, that, half-seen loom
Like the carven prows of proud, far-triumphing ships --
And the firelight wavers and changes about the room,

As the three logs crackle and burn with a small still sound;
Half-blotting with dark the deeper dark of her hair,
Where she lies, head pillowed on arm, and one hand curved round
To shield the white face and neck from the faint thin glare.

Gently she breathes -- and the long limbs lie at ease,
And the rise and fall of the young, slim, virginal breast
Is as certain-sweet as the march of slow wind through trees,
Or the great soft passage of clouds in a sky at rest.

I kneel, and our arms enlace, and we kiss long, long.
I am drowned in her as in sleep. There is no more pain.
Only the rustle of flames like a broken song
That rings half-heard through the dusty halls of the brain.

One shaking and fragile moment of ecstasy,
While the grey gloom flutters and beats like an owl above.
And I would not move or speak for the sea or the sky
Or the flame-bright wings of the miraculous Dove!

poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
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