The forest
The forest opens
Arousing the sences
To the fragrance of needles and leaves
Strong towers of most majestic trees
Rise from fallen now fertile dead
Listen recieptely, do you hear?
Echoing sensualy
From her dampness
Voices containing words from many speaches
Above all...
Faintly, like of a 'nymph'
Saying, Enter, enter
In the tumultuous dark depths
Sharp Claws and pointed teeth
Tear away the flesh
From the living
The pieces fall
Helplessly into the forgotten rehelems
To valuable to lay for waste
Plucked up from the dark shadows
By The birds, black in color
Thoughts primitave in survival nature
They Gather the pieces
Of bloody flesh
Carried off
To sustaine their evel exsistance
Their hurried departure
Shakes and stirs
The cover of darkness
Through the restling motion
Living light, falls effortlessly down
Containing its eternal enemy
Re- vitalized
What life is left
Strength to crawl
Becomes a drive to walk
From the wickedness
Silence and doom
poem by Howard Johnson
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Related quotes
Eternal Dark
Living in the shadows
Live a life of sins
Now you feel the pressure
There ain't no giving in
Do you ever wander
Do you ever think
What may lie beyond you
What's the missing link
Will you enter the paradise
Will you see the light
What is your destination
Your eyes will see - eternal dark
There ain't no use behaving
Life can never change
There ain't no book to guide you
You're desperate to the range
Why do you listen
To the holy man
Sage one will take you
The only one who can
Will you enter the paradise
Will you see the light
What is your destination
Your eyes will see - eternal dark
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flesh & Blood
Im not that someone whos got what you want
I can do nothing but watch what you do
You just want someone to kiss you good night
But lips are never enough to get you through
You stole my nights and you got your way
Now you got me dying inside , oh baby
Ebony dont walk out on me
Listen to what I say
Pick up the pieces of my life into the night of day
How do you break this heart of steel
Nobody ever could
Open the pages of my life
Im only flesh and blood
Ill be your savior but baby I swear
Im not living my life over you
Some satisfaction you get if you dare
But is it ever enough to get you through
You stole my mind and you watch me fall
Now you leave the scene of the crime,oh no
Ebony dont walk out on me
I never thought you could
Im only what you make of me
Im only flesh and blood
Im only flesh and blood
When youre gone , youll be leaving behind,
A broken man with something to hide
Oh, lost in the night in a town without pity
You learn how to cry. you learn how to cry
(break)
Ebony dont walk out on me
Listen to what I say
Pick up the pieces of my life into the night of day
How do you break this heart of steel
Nobody ever could
Open the pages of my life
Im only flesh and blood
Gone are the days that came and went
Houses are made of wood
Live in a world of sand and stone
Im only flesh and blood
Ebony dont walk out on me
I never thought you could
Im only what you make of me
Im only flesh and blood
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flight of the Imagination
An array of voices command within
Flight of the imagination-
A tree growing crookedly,
Sprouting from the depths of oblivion-
I believe I have seen a rainbow dancing with
The rays of the sun appearing over the horizon, as it
Rises above the clouds, crimson and vermillion in their hues?
Darkness steals the light away as rain begins to fall
Upon the essence of time,
Alien faces are frighteningly threatening, as
Spirits rise from the dead-
Lost souls in the depth of the forest indulging in profound conversation,
I am grasping at my thoughts, tenuously conflicting-
I can hear chattering voices, coming from outside intruders-
Ominous visions integrating upon a fallen foundation haunt, although
I know I must persevere-
Continuously walking, gathering my identity as
A reflecting pond catches dewdrops falling from leaves and grasses surrounding-
I think of building wooden fences about me to safeguard
My thoughts, precious, though complex and bewildering, as
The rain continues to fall.
Unfamiliar glances, suspiciously terrifying,
Upon footsteps, faltering,
I follow that pathway to nowhere, as I continue my solitary walk,
Escaping bedlam, towards the majestic place of my dreams-
As lightening strikes and thunder claps,
I continue my journey towards that wondrously enticing oblivion-
Content to have finally escaped the ostentatious veracity-
A lost but unique soul, I am-
I cannot discern the inevitable, though
I can laugh at the humor of my plight-
I have fallen in love with nature, and as
Rain spatters, though gently upon the pathway I walk-
I see my reflection wading in a nearby creek,
Crimson clouds have overcome the bleak darkness of reality-
In flight of my imagination, I have made a life for myself while
My spirit continues its journey out of the darkness into eternal light,
Forever-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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A night [O noapte]
Up in the starry sky dark clouds now come in sight
And suddenly they cover the night's eternal light.
A shadow vast and eerie surrounds the earth with ease
And in the black night's silence one hears how roars the breeze.
Will I be blessed again with moonlit nights and warm?
A storm has raged outside and in my chest – a storm.
Quick lightnings tear the darkness of the majestic sky,
As late at night swift light thoughts pervade my mind and eye.
And one can hear the thunder that whimpers far away,
As in my soul is groaning eternal black dismay.
Harassed by winds, the bleak woods their sad show do perform.
A storm has raged outside and in my chest – a storm.
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Bring me to life
A bead of water glistens on my palm
As I stepped on watery fields of sadness
I’ m dying, like a flower
That longing for a little falls of rain
Frozen inside
I could hardly breathe
Bring me to life
Let you be my strength in the odd that never ends.
As I touched the sky I see, the angels smile
But my wings are broken
I am fallen
My soul is tracking against the wind
I can’t fly
I’m drowning in the ocean of tears
Just like broken dreams
That is turn into pieces
My voice echoed on the silence of a sea
My throat is parch
No words slip on my lips
Even the wind can’t hear my mournful grief
A tuneful poem that I am trying to sing
But nobody wants to listen
Bring me to life
Let you be my voice in this world of deaf
My heart melts
Like a candle, soften under the sun
My body shivers as I glance at the doom
A dark shadow surrounded on me
Here I am seeking for the light I wanted to see
I was so blind
Bring me to life
Be the light as the sun rises on east
poem by Cheryl Aldea
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The Forest
The edge of the forest stands
Against the grey, white sky
Like a row of colourless headstones
Stripped trees emerge
Tombs of a bleak winter
Silhouetted in the dull light
Against the imaginings of man
No light or life escapes
The depths of the forest
The thoughts which swell there
Creates in them a fear
Some great sadness hidden
Branches reach out like clawed hands
Pointing into a nothingness
Or grabbing, pulling inwards
To the shadows and the darkness
Of the deathly forest floor
The silence that awaits
Far beneath the grey, white sky
The morning becomes forgotten
Beyond the edge of the forest
Where shadows hide
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Strength in weakness
Paul’s thorn in the flesh
When I am weak,
Then I am strong
Strength in weakness
A typical Pauline sophism?
A typical Pauline syllogism?
A typical Pauline casuistry?
A typical Pauline homily.
Paul’s thorn in the flesh
When I am weak,
Then I am strong
Strength in weakness
Paul was disabled, you see
Was he blind? You ask
Was he lame? You ask
Was it a speech impediment?
Paul’s thorn in the flesh
When I am weak,
Then I am strong
Strength in weakness
Oh! He was strong in spirit
But weak in appearance
He can’t be our leader, they said
He’s an embarrassment
Paul’s thorn in the flesh
When I am weak,
Then I am strong
Strength in weakness
Paul said: “Yes, I am weak
But God’s strength is made perfect
In my weakness not in my strength
So up the weak and down the strong! (my words!)
Paul’s thorn in the flesh
When I am weak,
Then I am strong
Strength in weakness
We are all weak in some way
Weak in our words
Weak in our walk
Weak in our talk
Paul’s thorn in the flesh
When I am weak,
Then I am strong
Strength in weakness
But for God, weak means strong
Kingdom values, Kingdom virtues
Jesus’ values, Jesus’ virtues
My values? my virtues?
Paul’s thorn in the flesh
When I am weak,
Then I am strong
Strength in weakness
So the lamb not the lion
The humble not the haughty
The lowly not the lofty
The penitent not the proud.
Paul’s thorn in the flesh
When I am weak,
Then I am strong
Strength in weakness
Let’s value then the weak
And remember they are strong.
If I am proud, then I am wrong
If I am conceited, then I am wrong
Paul’s thorn in the flesh
When I am weak,
Then I am strong
Strength in weakness
Let’s fill the Church then with the weak
Push in the wheelchairs
Roll in the scooters
Help the handicapped walk in.
Paul’s thorn in the flesh
When I am weak,
Then I am strong
Strength in weakness
“At even, ere the sun was set
The sick oh Lord, around thee lay
Oh, in what divers pains they met
Oh with what joy they went away
And none oh Lord, have perfect rest
For none are wholly free from sin;
For they who fain would serve thee best
Are conscious most of sin within.
Thy touch has still its ancient power
No word from thee can fruitless fall
Hear in this solemn hour we pray
And in thy mercy heal us all.”
Paul’s thorn in the flesh
For when I am weak,
Then I am strong
Strength in weakness.
poem by James Hart
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Shine Your Light
You've told me,
many times before,
that you prefer living,
in a world of darkness.
But tell me this,
when looking into darkness,
don't you see the smallest light,
in the distance?
Can't you see,
a little light,
that will shine through,
any darkness?
But yet you still say,
dark is better than light,
so are you saying that,
you too are a dark person?
No that can't be so,
when I think of you,
the last thing I'd think of,
would be dark.
You have so much light within,
but yet you've decided to live,
where no light can get in,
but is suffocated by dark.
You seem so strong inside,
but yet to everyone you hide,
except to me when you show me,
the real light within.
If you are full,
of such strong light,
then why do you tell everyone,
you love the darkness?
poem by Katherine Bryce
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Living With The Enemy
I gave you all that you wanted
and still you come back for more
You say that you're brokenhearted
but then you walk out the door
Maybe it is time for us to say goodbye
Where are the tears you never cried?
Hey baby what you got on your mind
are you looking for some sympathy?
I can tell you if it's a truth or a lie
'Cos it's just like living,
living with the enemy
You got me going in circles,
I'm slowly loosing my head
What did I do to deserve this,
you make me wish I was dead
Tell me I'm wrong and I'll be on my way
See you around another day
Hey baby what you doin' tonite?
Are you giving me the perfect dream
I'm so tired and I don't wanna fight
'Cos it's just like living,
living with the enemy, enemy
Living with the enemy, living with the enemy, enemy
Living with the enemy,enemy
Living with the enemy, living with the enemy, enemy
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An African Elegy
In the groves of Africa from their natural wonder
the wildebeest, zebra, the okapi, the elephant,
have enterd the marvelous. No greater marvelous
know I than the mind’s
natural jungle. The wives of the Congo
distil there their red and the husbands
hunt lion with spear and paint Death-spore
on their shields, wear his teeth, claws and hair
on ordinary occasions. There the Swahili
open his doors, let loose thru the trees
the tides of Death’s sound and distil
from their leaves the terrible red. He
is the consort of dreams I have seen, heard
in the orchestral dark
like the barking of dogs.
Death is the dog-headed man zebra striped
and surrounded by silence who walks like a lion,
who is black. It was his voice crying come back,
that Virginia Woolf heard, turnd
her fine skull, hounded and haunted, stopt,
pointed into the scent where
I see her in willows, in fog, at the river of sound
in the trees. I see her prepare there
to enter Death’s mountains
like a white Afghan hound pass into the forest,
closed after, let loose in the leaves
with more grace than a hound and more wonder there
even with flowers wound in her hair, allowing herself
like Ophelia a last
pastoral gesture of love toward the world.
And I see
all our tortures absolved in the fog,
dispersed in Death’s forests, forgotten. I see
all this gentleness like a hound in the water
float upward and outward beyond my dark hand.
I am waiting this winter for the more complete black-out,
for the negro armies in the eucalyptus, for the cities
laid open and the cold in the love-light, for hounds
women and birds to go back to their forests and leave us
our solitude.
. . .
Negroes, negroes, all those princes,
holding cups of rhinoceros bone, make
magic with my blood. Where beautiful Marijuana
towers taller than the eucalyptus, turns
within the lips of night and falls,
falls downward, where as giant Kings we gathered
and devourd her burning hands and feet, O Moonbar
thee and Clarinet! those talismans
that quickened in their sheltering leaves like thieves,
those Negroes, all those princes
holding to their mouths like Death
the cups of rhino bone,
were there to burn my hands and feet,
divine the limit of the bone and with their magic
tie and twist me like a rope. I know
no other continent of Africa more dark than this
dark continent of my breast.
And when we are deserted there,
when the rustling electric has passt thru the air,
once more we begin in the blind and blood throat
the African catches; and Desdemona, Desdemona
like a demon wails within our bodies, warns
against this towering Moor of self and then
laments her passing from him.
And I cry, Hear!
Hear in the coild and secretive ear
the drums that I hear beat. The Negroes, all those princes
holding cups of bone and horn, are there in halls
of blood that I call forests, in the dark
and shining caverns where
beats heart and pulses brain, in
jungles of my body, there
Othello moves, striped black and white,
the dog-faced fear. Moves I, I, I,
whom I have seen as black as Orpheus,
pursued deliriously his sound and drownd
in hunger’s tone, the deepest wilderness.
Then it was I, Death singing,
who bewildered the forest. I thot him
my lover like a hound of great purity
disturbing the shadow and flesh of the jungle.
This was the beginning of the ending year.
From all of the empty the tortured appear,
and the bird-faced children crawl out of their fathers
and into that never filld pocket,
the no longer asking but silent, seeing nowhere
the final sleep.
The halls of Africa we seek in dreams
as barriers of dream against the deep, and seas
disturbd turn back upon their tides
into the rooms deserted at the roots of love.
There is no end. And how sad then
is even the Congo. How the tired sirens
come up from the water, not to be toucht
but to lie on the rocks of the thunder.
How sad then is even the marvelous!
poem by Robert Duncan
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Improvisations: Light And Snow: 10
It is night time, and cold, and snow is falling,
And no wind grieves the walls.
In the small world of light around the arc-lamp
A swarm of snowflakes falls and falls.
The street grows silent. The last stranger passes.
The sound of his feet, in the snow, is indistinct.
What forgotten sadness is it, on a night like this,
Takes possession of my heart?
Why do I think of a camellia tree in a southern garden,
With pink blossoms among dark leaves,
Standing, surprised, in the snow?
Why do I think of spring?
The snowflakes, helplessly veering,,
Fall silently past my window;
They come from darkness and enter darkness.
What is it in my heart is surprised and bewildered
Like that camellia tree,
Beautiful still in its glittering anguish?
And spring so far away!
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Blistering Mark
delve in the dark and haunt all the nights
tired of the lies of that weak weak light
it goes to show your power has no effect
because your rays are so feeble
feebly glistening, supported by the dark
so the protectors gather around you
stand in the cathedral and see
see them pray for your growth
shielding you from bursting forth
then your turn on them like the traitor you are
it is light which has secrets, truth is far
you turn around and take your flight
burning their eyes and blinding them for life
and to say the truth, you know well how it goes
you call the dark your enemy, your friend and your foe
but now dark has the knowledge of your conspiring nature
it, now, sees light as the demon and it self a betrayed creature
as dark huddles in the shadows, everything is clear
no light to create shadows or to give birth to hopeless despair
so all i have learned is that even though human scorns the dark
it is the light you should fear, it is light that leaves a blistering mark
poem by Cassiel Kaini
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Cemetery Drive
cemetery drive,
covered in mist,
driving down the road,
so cold,
the crypts and tombstones cast dark shadow,
the bats and the wind,
grimly howl,
cemetery drive,
a place of shadow,
cemetery drive,
tall dead trees,
comfort the dead,
black roses grow along the road,
they fight the cold,
and give the living hope,
the living hope their hearts never stop,
and they'll never have to call cemetery drive home,
and tend to the shadows and black roses
poem by Catie Belle Stark
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The Voice Says In My Heart
Dreaming of a life of peace,
Though I am shattered to pieces.
A damaged spirit, resulting from a defective mind.
Broken and irreparable, so I think.
But my thoughts got me here in the first place.
On my knees, looking up, I see the light.
Shining down on me from above.
It connects with the light inside.
The voices in my head silence.
My mind clears, true vision appears.
'Pick up the pieces.', the soft voice whispers from within.
'Many pieces, put together, makes a piece.'
'That is what you seek isn't it? '
'Give them to me, for the pieces are heavy'.
'What I have created, only I can fix.'
'It was broken by you in the first place.'
'Because I was not your first place.'
'I was your last. I was your end.'
'But now you have reached me, '
'Let me show you what I can do.'
'For I come with an eternal warranty and a misery back guarantee.'
Piece by piece, I was put back together.
Until I was one.
Not one with my thoughts, but one with my maker.
No longer listening to what the voices in my head say.
But to what the voice says in my heart.
As it whispers to me, I can feel it's voice.
'Peace.'
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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The King
He stands alone.
Determined to unite all for the greater good.
A man of strong will and faith.
The weight and opposition is vast,
there at every turn to discourage and destroy the forces of righteousness that he has built and fought for.
As the opposition grows many of his forces weaken under the immense pressure and darkness.
Many abandon him for the pleasures of the flesh.
He is deeply saddened and distraught by the weakness of man and their lacivious nature.
Further and further the blackness grows,
over the earth suffocating all that is just.
He has finally reached the point of thourough despair and heartbreak. All of his greatest commanders and confidants have turned their backs on him, having lost faith in him and the cause.
Despair, sorrow, bewilderment, suicide haunt him day and night.
He is broken, robbed of his will, self-respect, and faith.
He himself falls away leaving only the tinniest glimmer of hope in the world.
After a long journey of debauchery, self loathing, enjoying all sins of the flesh, and exploring the dark arts he is left a bitter broken man. Thouroughly distraught and void of but the few remnants of the man he once was.
Finally he falls to his knees and begs for forgiveness, determined to free himself from this bondage.
Now he turns back to the light prepared to pick himself up and rise from the ashes.
After a long difficult internal battle he begins to pick up the pieces again and rebuild his kingdom.
With renewed passion and strength he once again faces the opposition and begins to drive it back.
This battle still rages today the forces of light gaining much ground, victory and facing setbacks he fights on.
The King is our rock and saviour.
God save The King.
poem by Michael McParland
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Secret of the Sun
Raised by the bare bones of nature’s grace,
my home held hands with the feral forest,
where nature hid her gold.
I have heard palm trees whisper their stories
I have listened to the silent full moon quietly teach
lessons of those who had lived.
I know of the green secrets of the earth
Soft voices of searching roots that sprout forth, cluster
around my hut to tell.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I understand the tongue of the wild.
I have swayed to the blue songs of humming birds that fill the
tree branches with their nests.
I have had breakfast plucked ripe off the tree
and lunch caught right from the river.
I have aimed a stick in the forest and secured supper.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
where nature’s breast milk flows from palm trees
and every suckle leaves a smile on wrinkled ebony faces.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I have seen rains held up at the summons of wooden carved gods.
women foretell events of the next day, and men
hear voices of elders long dead.
I am from the bowels of Africa
I am carolled to dreamland by
crickets, frogs and fireflies
that mime nature’s song at night fall
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I am the dark secret held by the sun
Feel the dark
Feel the dark, black as coal
and soft as velvet,
beneath your fingertips
Dark is upon the night
Darkness all about me
In my own solemn silence
The silence has substance
As thick as can be
Silence about me
As loud as a scream
In a nightmarish dream
It can terrify me
Silence has a feel
Of darkness in silk cloaked
As a desperate cry being choked
Phantasmic, yet real
As Quiet surrounds me
The silence has substance
The absence of presence
is deafening to me
Those sounds of silence
Cry out to those who seek
The companionship of shadows.
A vast endless vacuum
Of blackened day,
I am sucked into an existence
summoning the cold from the depths
Where darkness looms over,
It cradles me in comfort,
Blankets me with security.
Released from the mares that haunt the mind
And taken in by them
The shielding shadows of the dark,
I am embellished with life anew
And unleashing the fear the light kept hidden.
Away from the solitude reaped
By the scars of wounds that bite.
In a playground of discontent
with creeping shadows
In an asylum of euphoria,
Under the veil of darkness
Do I smile and frolic,
Soothed by the kiss of night.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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Hymn To Life
The hair falling on your forehead
suddenly lifted.
Suddenly something stirred on the ground.
The trees are whispering
in the dark.
Your bare arms will be cold.
Far off
where we can't see,
the moon must be rising.
It hasn't reached us yet,
slipping through the leaves
to light up your shoulder.
But I know
a wind comes up with the moon.
The trees are whispering.
Your bare arms will be cold.
From above,
from the branches lost in the dark,
something dropped at your feet.
You moved closer to me.
Under my hand your bare flesh is like the fuzzy skin of a fruit.
Neither a song of the heart nor "common sense"--
before the trees, birds, and insects,
my hand on my wife's flesh
is thinking.
Tonight my hand
can't read or write.
Neither loving nor unloving...
It's the tongue of a leopard at a spring,
a grape leaf,
a wolf's paw.
To move, breathe, eat, drink.
My hand is like a seed
splitting open underground.
Neither a song of the heart nor "common sense,"
neither loving nor unloving.
My hand thinking on my wife's flesh
is the hand of the first man.
Like a root that finds water underground,
it says to me:
"To eat, drink, cold, hot, struggle, smell, color--
not to live in order to die
but to die to live..."
And now
as red female hair blows across my face,
as something stirs on the ground,
as the trees whisper in the dark,
and as the moon rises far off
where we can't see,
my hand on my wife's flesh
before the trees, birds, and insects,
I want the right of life,
of the leopard at the spring, of the seed splitting open--
I want the right of the first man.
Trans. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 01: The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Dreamer Of Dreams
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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