Related quotes: A feeling in the heart...

A Feeling In The Heart That Overwhelms Thought

A feeling in the heart that overwhelms thought.
Can the stars feel our pain like distant neurons?
Thorns blunted in moments like this, the hands of time
almost folded in prayer like the wings of a nightbird
whose lament has seized the air with something
so sad and true, everything that lives,
and everything lives, can sense it,
even though they can't think it or say it.
The vigil of sentience is arrested by the same
mysterious note of suffering that binds us to everything
in the courage that it takes to live it beautifully
by burning with insight to flower compassionately
in the midst of the heretical flames of our own damnation.

The presence, the friend, the blaze, an affable familiar,
enlightenment or an expedient delusion of an hour or two
when pain isn't the personal possession of anyone,
and a vision emerges that supersedes empathy
when even the demons cry alone for things they can't explain,
too deep for tears, though they're never far away,
when a kind of peace overtakes you from behind
and there's heart break in the clearing of the clouds
and you know you haven't lived humbly enough
to see it without fear, but you open your eyes
and look anyway and they're seared
by the dragon of awareness looking back at you
as if you could feel every mystic detail of hurt in the world,
time past, present, and to come, all at once,
a bolt of black lightning splitting your bones open
like an oak to expose your heartwood to the stars
as if the scars just fell off a chronic wound that never heals.

And there's no injunction behind this devastating insight
into the pervasive depths of the grief that must be endured
as one of the terrible conditions of life if for no other reason,
and reason's always a small guess, than to live to be aware of it
and try to love one another better than we're capable of.
To fail at what we're trying to attain from the unattainable
because there's no love in the acquisition of anything
we can get our hands on in a world of forms and dream figures
that are always passing away from us like roads
that leave us walking alone with the moon
for our only companion, wondering where the others went
who used to chatter in the trees like homing birds
about whether you were a threat or just another lost soul
going anywhere in the defeated hope that he might be found
even though what he seeks is doing the looking
and there's nothing retroactive about our eyes
that can creatively repeat the immediacy of our seeing.
Eternity wounds the children of time like wild flowers
at the end of autumn, and the harvest dance is ruined by death.
And whenever and whatever we celebrate, it's as much
of a protest singing through our tears like light
in the false dawns of our candles and chandeliers,
as it is a party. If we act happy, maybe that's half the proof
we were born to be, even alone at night in the woods,
saturated with decay, trying to convince ourselves
all passage is the prelude to the renewal of a recurrent dream.

And may it be so. May it be imaginal and necessary.
May delusion always be the cornerstone of enlightenment
and the impact of meteors always splash us in diamonds
like the tears of the fires of life that don't wash off.
May what's already been given to you always outweigh
the reward of what you think you laboured for
so your gifts perpetually exceed the limits of your just deserts,
and the praeternatural walk beside you like the dark sage
of everything that remains to be known but can't be
until you learn there's nothing to master in the stillness.
In the silence. In the essential grammar of the abyss
which is us trying to express ourselves like mediums
of our own minds with these nouns of sorrow, verbs of bliss
of the whippoorwill, the hermit thrush, the barred owl,
the starling and the mockingbird singing without meaning
anything to anyone but themselves like an artist or a child.

The heart of the petty is always a compass needle
Zen-duelling over the proper direction of prayer
as if it were swinging a sword over your head,
but among those born demonically blessed enough
to be self-defeatingly great in the name
of a few noble absurdities they'd prefer to live than explain,
this feeling that flows through you like electricity
through a glacier, that fills you like a silo of suffering
is the spear head that's embedded in the starmud of your heart
you can't pull out and you can't push through
given there's no exit, no entrance on the enclosures of life,
whether it be a secret garden, or a famous grave,
or you just want to be let off your leash like a playful dog
to chase the nurses like gulls on the terminal night ward,
or not cry out in pain to prove you're a Mongol of the soul,
this emotion that makes you feel so empty
in the light of the truth of the enormity of the pain
that's been overcome by life through the agony
of everything that's been endured for no one's sake
to vitally accommodate the unassessible transformations,

of sentience adapting to its cruellest mutations,
and so surfeited with it all in the shadow of a lie,
this is the birthmark of that counter intuition
that makes life worthy of being lived against the odds
of ever being able to justify it to yourself or God, the zeitgeist
or anyone else in need of a proxy or a paraclete
to moderate the human divinity that's been bestowed upon us,
at the very least, by virtue of our suffering
and the unknown voice in the void of its release.

poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

Timeless Visions

Try to rape your mind with your drugs and your guns
And try to change the world, for your time will never let go
Of all of the industries of hate, all of the industries of crime
All of the industries ov time
They leave you once again
They rip apart your mind
They steal up all your time
They never ever let go
We always left, so live it up
All in the back they scrape apart the flesh on your mind
They never believe in treachery
They never opened their mind
They are the ones who steal your life
They are the ones who get out of sight
We are just here to live our lives
They always win the war with their pride
They all live in death
They all shine in it
They are death unleashed to the world
They all breath undone in your head
Tomorrow's time is your past alone in being
And dying is your past, a lie
Feel the pain, the cross on your back
Now, die, we'll feel the pain on your mind
On the edge, on the edge, on the edge
You'll melt away
You'll fade away
Life is a double edged sword for you to choke on
And cry some more
No vision, no light, no nothing, empty inside, no time
Just a void eating up your mind for space and time, no one realign
Your mind is junk but you just eat it up
No feeling no light feel your head after all this time
You run with these ideas to explain your disposition.

song performed by by Velvet Acid Christ
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art Of Life

Desert Rose
Why do you live alone
If you are sad
I'll make you leave this life
Are you white, blue or bloody red
All I can see is drowning in cold grey sand
The winds of time
You knock me to the ground
I'm dying of thirst
I wanna run away
I don't know how to set me free to live
My mind cries out feeling pain
I've been roaming to find myself
How long have I been feeling endless hurt
Falling down, rain flows into my heart
In the pain I'm waiting for you
Can't go back
No place to go back to
Life is lost, Flowers fall
If it's all dreams
Now wake me up
If it's all real
Just kill me
I'm making the wall inside my heart
I don't wanna let my emotions get out
It scares me to look at the world
Don't want to find myself lost in your eyes
I tried to drown my past in grey
I never wanna feel more pain
Ran away from you without saying any words
What I don't wanna lose is love
Through my eyes
Time goes by like tears
My emotion's losing the color of life
Kill my heart
Release all my pain
I'm shouting out loud
Insanity takes hold over me
Turning away from the wall
Nothing I can see
The scream deep inside
reflecting another person in my heart
He calls me from within
"All existence you see before you
must be wiped out :
Dream, Reality, Memories,
and Yourself"
I begin to lose control of myself
My lust is so blind, destroys my mind
Nobody can stop my turning to madness
No matter how you try to hold me in your heart
Why do you wanna raise these walls
I don't know the meaning of hatred
My brain gets blown away hearing words of lies
I only want to hold your love
Stab the dolls filled with hate
Wash yourself with their blood
Drive into the raging current of time
Swing your murderous weapon into the belly
"the earth"
Shout and start creating confusion
Shed your blood for pleasure
And what ? for love ?
What am I supposed to do ?
I believe in the madness called "Now"
Past and future prison my heart
Time is blind
But I wanna trace my love
on the wall of time, over pain in my heart
Art of life
Insane blade stabbing dreams
Try to break all truth now
But I can't heal this broken heart in pain
Cannot start to live, Cannot end my life
Keep on crying
Close my eyes
Time breathes I can hear
All love and sadness
melt in my heart
Dry my tears
Wipe my bloody face
I wanna feel me living my life
outside my walls
You can't draw a picture of yesterday, so
You're painting your heart with your blood
You can't say "No"
Only turning the wheel of time
with a rope around your neck
You build a wall of morality and take a breath
from between the bricks
You make up imaginary enemies and are chased by them
You're trying to commit suicide
You're satisfied with your prologue
Now you're painting your first chapter black
You are putting the scraps of life together
and trying to make an asylum for yourself
You're hitting a bell at the edge of the stage
and
You are trying to kill me
I believe in the madness called "Now"
Time goes flowing, breaking my heart
Wanna live
Can't let my heart kill myself
Still I haven't found what I'm looking for
Art of life
I try to stop myself
But my heart goes to destroy the truth
Tell me why
I want the meaning of my life
Do I try to live, Do I try to love
in my dream
I'm breaking the wall inside my heart
I just wanna let my emotions get out
Nobody can stop
I'm running to freedom
No matter how you try to hold me in your world
Like a doll carried by the flow of time
I sacrificed the present moment for the future
I was in chains of memory half-blinded
Losing my heart, walking in the sea of dreams
Close my eyes
Rose breathes I can hear
All love and sadness melt in my heart
Dry my tears
Wipe my bloody face
I wanna feel me living my life
outside my mind
Dreams can make me mad
I can't leave my dream
I can't stop myself
Don't know what I am
What lies are truth ?
What truths are lies ?
I believe in the madness called "Now"
Time goes flowing, breaking my heart
Wanna to live
Can't let my heart kill myself
Still I haven't found what I'm looking for
Art of life
I try to stop myself
But my heart goes to destroy the truth
Tell me why
I want the meaning of my life
Do I try to live, Do I try to love
Art of life
An Eternal Bleeding heart
You never wanna breathe your last
Wanna live
Can't let my heart kill myself
Still I'm feeling for
A Rose is breathing love
in my life

song performed by by X JAPAN
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art Of Life

song performed by by X JAPAN
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Enlightenment Isn't Lumpy

Enlightenment isn't lumpy
even if sometimes you've got your heart
stuck in your throat
like a bird in a chimney
warming up like a phoenix
to go the way of the sumac leaves
and the ghosts of smoke
on the pyres of the sky burials
of the Canada geese.
Just because November
can't feel its pulse
and the garden snakes are nesting
like a sloppy knot of wavelengths
deep in the cold heartwood
of a rootless tree that can feel
the brutal chill of serpent fire
running up its spine like a lightning rod
doesn't mean enlightenment's a placebo
you have to keep away from the kids.
It's real enough to be unattainable
without disrespecting the integrity
of the picture plane.
It hides out in the open
where no one ever thinks to look.
The simpler it gets
the bigger the book you need to write
in order to conclude ambiguously
you do and you don't not understand it.
Say not two
and all is well.
And mean it deeper than you can say it
so that pain doesn't adulterate the child
that's trying to transcend it
by hanging on to the lifelines
of his fire-proof constellations
like the kites of distant stars burning in the wind.
Enlightenment doesn't care
if you've lost your integrity.
Your absence of self-respect
for someone who isn't there
is a rare opportunity
to uphold the dignity
of stars and rivers and trees.
Enlightenment's just the blossom.
It's not the fruit
of what there is yet to be.
The smell of autumn
in a windfall of apples
cradled like small planets in your arms.
Enlightenment isn't salvation from pain.
It's an invitation to forsake yourself
in the name of nothing you can explain.
The blossom let's go to make room for the fruit.
The perfumes of the spring give way
to the aromas of decay.
But they're both sweet
because there's nothing about either of them
that's everlasting.
It may be an old root.
But it blossoms in the spring.
It may be a dead branch
but the nightbird stops to sing.
And the full moon shines
like a skull full of signs
above its dark abundance.
Enlightenment isn't out of the reach of anyone
because it's got infinitely long arms
and puts the stars at your fingertips
and says play what you want
as long as it's something
we all can dance to
on our way to the grave
like fireflies in the wake of a thunderstorm.
Enlightenment doesn't take life too seriously
even when it makes a tantrum
of its elemental innocence
and goes supernova.
Deep in the nuclear core of its heart
it's creatively playful on a cosmic scale.
The darkest inspiration
of its genius for making
an art of its existence
is life.
Simple and beautiful
as the laughter of children
collecting sea shells on the moon.
Even when you're severely lost
enlightenment doesn't hand you a flashlight
and say go look for your mind
like the holy grail in a sacred wood.
It deepens your solitude.
It blows the candle out
until you emerge like a star
from the profusion of your own darkness
and stand in the doorway
of your own shining
amazed by what you can see
when enlightenment isn't blinding.

poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The storms of Life

Sometimes sad things happen in our life
they flare up suddenly and cause us strife.
The barriers that we put up against the flow
break down in floods of tears and sorrow.

Troubles fall like raindrops pelting down
welling into a flood in which we might drown.
We do our utmost to cope with the strain
but so many hurts cause our soul much pain.

Like in storms the raindrops seem really huge
and they gather into an irresistible deluge.
They test the fortitude of our minds defence
and when they burst through the pain's intense.

As we lay in bed in the early hours of the day
we cannot withstand them to our dismay.
They come crashing in like a forceful torrent
causing tears to flow out of us as we lament.

We cry out in anguish great sobs of sorrow
at the pain that comes as we work them through.
Our hearts despair at the turmoil that they bring
overwhelmed, we feel unable to do anything.

We become less resistant as the years go by
unable to withstand them and we wonder why
our human frailty is being tested to this extent
straining under the weight of our predicament.

We feel the deep hurt and the pain they bring
and would rather live in a world of no suffering.
They add to the burden of each passing day
and we would that they were banished away.

Sorrows well up from deep within our soul
as the anguish and suffering takes it toll.
It reminds us of the great 'Man of Sorrows'
who feels all our heartache, pains and woes.

'Come to me Oh weary one' Jesus said
'lay down your burdens at my feet instead.
For my yoke is easy and my burden is light
you'll find rest for you soul, it will be alright.'

We rise up from our bed of pain and gloom
and find our way to that blessed upper room.
There we sit at the feet of the Lord and cry out
wondering what these sufferings are all about.

We lay our burdens down at His feet there
knowing He understands, we rest in His care.
Then we pour out our soul and to Him reveal
the deep sorrow and the sadness that we feel.

The storm subsides and the sorrows cease
as He brings to our soul that heavenly peace
and the healing balm that only He can bring
permeates into the depths of our inner being.

We feel Him lifting us out of our despair
as we rest in the sanctity of His presence there.
We look up and gaze into His wonderful face
and feel deep healing of our soul taking place.

His arms enfold us in His love and we can sense
the preciousness of His wonderful presence.
We rest awhile held in His loving embrace
as peace returns and deep healing takes place.

The sorrows of the world will always be here
they dog our steps and will not just disappear.
But with the Lord these troubles do not defeat
because we can lay them there at His blessed feet.

But this earthly life we live will not always be
and a time will come when our soul is set free.
And in that heavenly kingdom where Christ reigns
God Himself will remove our tears and pains.

No death, no sorrow and no pain shall endure
and these earthly sorrows will plaque us no more.
They will be replaced by heavenly joy and love
as we stand in the presence of our Lord above.

poem by Royston
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tears of the Greatest

oh! tears, holy are you who comes to my emptiness, of
where ever I go, you have been the mirror of what I am
true today who brings me tomorrow, and always in my
midst and night stay in my bedside play, until the last
minute of my last day, says a goodbye

you swift my deep slumber, hugging what I feel and
express in your honest tears, where the inner passion
of feeling resemble in my immortal soul, everything
desire the joy and the pain my heart adore

touch me, squeezes and grips my whole heart that grief,
leave me alone in the shadow of the wilderness and hold
me not to accept my triumphant happiness, where every
teardrops tell the meaning of myself, give me the
wisdom to hold the past and the memories that takes so
fast

now that i'm in your side, where do I go from here, where
should my loving feeling subdue when you did come
always to my way, you who have been in the path I’ve go,
believe that you will be with me until it last for a lifetime,
leaving the end of the day and longing to live in the end time

life wait me not, the tears I give it up, take me to live in
your loving mortal eye, will I’ve stay, look I'm always in your
way, sheltering the feeling of what you believe, shows
me of what is life is all about, for in every tears it fall there
is always a call and your heart I know is full

let my tears come and go, I waited you for me to show,
happiness and failure you wanted me to cried, for in every
teardrops you fall my heart leads you know, that my eyes
want you stay in every way I go, for in my journey, my tears
becomes in me……

poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh first love

Oh first love
The reason for my smile
And the reason for my tears.
Oh first love
My heart's soul mate
And my heart's heart breaker.
Oh first love
The one person I can't live with
And I can't live without.
Oh first love
You've inhabited my heart
For so long I don't
See myself without you
Without your so called love
Without your lies
Without the tears that rain
Every night from my eyes
From the loneliness
And insecurities you've
Made me feel.
Oh first love
I wonder
I really wonder
If I were given a chance
To leave and forget you,
Would I?
Would I leave you?
Or being with you is such
A norm that I now enjoy it
That I don't even see anything
Wrong with it
I really do wonder
My first love.
Oh yes first love
Though you've brought pain
In my life I have to say
The little things you do
They make me enormously happy
And you the only one
Capable of making me that happy.
After all we've been through
After all you've put me through
I don't want anyone else
I want you and only you
And yes I will continue to
Love you unconditionally
With my broken heart
My first love.

poem by Zinhlejobe Sithole
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Practical Uses Of Poetry

Not to be practical, not
to mean, be, do,
no more than the wind
to insist upon itself, to
move like the wind,
like a disembodied intelligence
over the mindfields
practicing the twin disciplines
of light and rain,
scattering the mystic pollen
of intuitive seeds
that bloom like roseate fire
in the shadowless gardens of the abyss
arranging the cosmos like a wild bouquet
in the blood vase of the human heart.
To remind us
we're not fireflies or stars
stuck on a chromosome
of intellectual flypaper,
a buzzing that will stop,
but a passion of native iron
in the arms of alien oxygen,
urged into creative consummation
by carbon.
Free as water, free as God
the night she put the universe on
like make-up
to attend to the beginning of everything
with a cosmic efflorescence of fireworks,
to speak for the stones, the stars, the trees,
to say them into being,
to say us, to whisper us
into the enormity of her solitude,
the inconceivability of her darkness,
a secret she couldn't keep anymore.
Experience is a child playing,
not function, not a job, not a career.
What's practical about singing alone
because the mysterious nightbird
has come like a blossom of joy
to the bough of the tree in winter?
Or must dancing have a use,
music be enchained to the stone ear of utility?
Bleeding isn't very practical either
but how would you ever know
you were a rose scarred by your own thorns
if you didn't?
Sooner renounce the sweetness
of the star-flavoured summer night air
or teach the wind a compass and a map,
the sky to consult a control tower
than try to grind the stars of poetry
with a stone and an ox
into a function and a fee.
The wages of poetry are always a gift
that takes the recipient by surprise
with the beauty of its subtlety
and a coin as true as the moon.
Who asks to be paid
to dance alone with God?
And even the abyss
has provided you with a world
like a passport to anywhere you want to go.
Among the birds and the leaves
flowing along with this pilgrimage of stars
to shrines that are older than knowing,
if the sun or the moon
should open your voice like a flower
in the deep woods
to hear you singing in the light,
and you are urged into poetry
through a gate as open as the cosmos,
and you discover colours have echoes
and the notes of your song
are a palette of gardens,
and everything you paint with your picture-music
is the portrait of someone you're becoming
until you look like everyone
from the inside out,
every passion
the longing of a planet
to burn with life,
and the deepest watershed of your humanity
is itself
the fountain
where the goddess drinks from her own reflection,
and you understand
that the word in the morning
is the word at the end of the day,
and that the life that adorns your body within
is the wine of the worlds
in a cup of clay
encrusted with stars
and you are the delirium the dream seeks,
the lightning and lucidity of the dark sage
your roots consult like a storm,
would you then look upon the first crescent of the moon
and try to fix it to a plough,
would you look forever
into the wells of now
like the eyes of a lover
who combs out the tresses of the willow like the wind
as if he played the whole of the night
on the blue guitar of your heart,
would you renounce the music as impractical?
To walk through this world aware,
with a spear of moonlight through your heart
like a poet, to feel
everything a human can feel
and have the courage and the art
to sing
the joys and sorrows,
the gardens and intimate hells alike
with compassion and understanding,
even when you often don't understand
because the shadow of the world
eclipses your eyes,
or the windows are saturated with pain,
to be able to do that, to be that
is beyond assessing
because there is no intention to life
or the running of the river
or the unspooling of a poem
that conceives of its seeing as progress.
What the eye writes
on these pages of percipient sky
that bring the world to a focus in us
is not a reality in advance
of the dream that shadows it.

poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gazing Upon A Star In Memory Of Another Star

Sometimes we take moments for granted
Some days we never really appreciate the meaning of life
Somehow we never realize what it really means to spend a day with those we care about
So somewhere beyond the clouds I hope we will meet again
so that I can make it up to you for the moments we never had.
With tears flowing to tell my sorrow,
Here I am gazing upon a star in memory of another star

Clock ticked, seasons changed
Smiles came, laughter passed
Wounds would heal but scars never did
Heart still bleeding a sea of pain,
Guess the bandages can never conceal the lesion left behind
If I had one wish it's your smile on my wish list
Two words to say, I'd say them to you
But now all I can do is gaze upon a star in memory of another star

Wish I could turn back the hands of time to make the moments we never lived
But it feels like the clock stopped ticking when your heart stopped beating
I kept believing because I never wanted to start grieving
I held their hands to keep them strong and with your words I sought to console them
Couldn't shed a tear because I had to dry their tears
But here I am drowning in my tears wishing I had someone to come comfort me
But all I can do is gaze upon a star in memory of another star
With 1 hand high I'll take 6 steps back
Can't breathe no more so I'll take a 0 to the floor and cry some more
8 moves to get up, I hope it's enough to express the pain deep inside my chest
i thought 0 wounds were left but it's truly a valley of anguish and I'm scared to visit it
hands together so I'll pray to the Lord that at His feet we'll meet again
Feel like I'm at the worlds edge trying to dance the pain away
1,6,0,8,0,9 are the figures my head will never forget.
So I'll dance and move all those steps till they spell that date
When I sat all alone gazing out into the night sky with 2 eyes wet
just like I'm doing now with both eyes soaked
Gazing upon a star in memory of you.

poem by Sir T.A.E.P.S
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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hEaRt LisT! ! ! ! ! *cuZ uR my eVeRthinG

My heart wants to be whole
And beating its way through the dark
But my heart doesnt always get what it wants..
My heart wants you cuz ur my everything
But my heart doesnt always get what it wants..
My heart wants to love myself
But my heart doesnt always get what it wants..
My heart wants to live for what we live for in life
But my heart doesnt always get what it wants..
My heart wants to chase after you
And let go of all I've held on to
But my heart doesnt always get what it wants..
My heart wants to end this empty numbness
That it's feeling and wants to feel the blood of love
Gushin form the veins of its insanity
It wants this pain to go away with a vengeful, suffering way
It wants to make every f*ckin soul on earth
Feel the horrific pain he made me gor through
The nights he left me lonely
The days he ignored the heart being torn out for him
My heart wants to end it all
Every once in a while my heart does get what it wants.................

poem by Emily Sleator
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sometimes The Clarity Comes Too Late

Sometimes the clarity comes too late
to realize there was never
any need for forgiveness
and nothing to expiate
about the way we made our gracious farewells
into works of art
that would go on hurting forever.
We had a genius back then
for making death seem more beautiful than it is
because we lived on the edge of things
and not their surfaces
and o if we'd only felt all those things
that made us weep at the end
dying in doorways that were more cruel
than any threshold we had to cross to stand there.
If only we could have felt those immensities of good-bye
from the very beginning
what reason would we have had to cry like candles
when the wine turned back into water
and the roses wiped their lipstick off on their leaves?
One goes out.
One goes in.
Because severance
no less than the dance
takes two to make a difference
and as the years go by
the silver flakes off the memory of the mirror
and you can see clear through to the other side
experience is just another log
you throw on the stars
to keep yourself warm on a cold October night
by a small fire out in the open
where it's easier to sublimate
the intensities of fate
by opening the cages you keep them in
and burning your loveletters
like the flightfeathers of half-forgotten songs
to spread their wings in the flames
and give them the freedom to rise higher
than the nest of ashes they were born in.
History isn't the muse
the immeasurable mystery is
and if you don't learn to let things go
you'll never know
how to live lyrically alone in the wild
unbounded by your solitude
by the side of a river whose flowers are dying.
The green bough hisses and blisters in the fire
but the cracks in the heartwood
burn far into the night
and give off way more heat in the autumn
than the pre-emptive lightning strikes of spring.
It's a rite of passage as old as migrating geese
mournfully bearing souls south
whose bones have turned to dust
to take all my prophetic skulls like moon rocks
out of the house of the dead
and arranging them into the ring of a firepit
stand in the middle like the eternal flame
of an unrepentant heretic
to rekindle the dance
even among the skeletal shadows
of a persecuted romance.
Even in sorrow.
Even in the silence
of the great distances
that add their aerial perspective to time.
Not to call ghosts back to a seance
as if they could tell me anymore about death
than I've already lived through
but every year at the second full moon in October
after the harvest is in
and the scarecrow has come down off his cross
and left it to the ravens of nevermore as a church
I lay a blue violin on a funeral pyre.
I stretch my heart out like a skin on a drum.
Dressed in the plumage of solar flares
I enter a trance of firebirds
that have long since disappeared back into the sun
and like Icarus in eclipse
or the last grasshopper
who didn't take the advice of the ants
to drag the leaves and wings of things
piecemeal into a shelter
to prepare for deeper separations yet to come.
I take my chances by the hand out here in the open
and I dance.
I dance with heresy.
I dance with the angels and the demons
that were martyred in the name
of what is unforgiveable about my human nature
and yet more sacred than the rain I dance for
to put the war I dance for out.
I dance with whole asylums of noetic visionaries
who went insane
trying to explain me to myself
like the origins of life on another planet.
And I dance again to the music of the women I've loved
whether in pain or bliss
whether I was hung by the tail
like a plague rat over the abyss
of my cannibalized emotions
like a famished snakepit
or I fell sidereally under the spell
of the fragrance of summer stars in their hair
I dance not as if it were all worth it in the end
but something inestimable to celebrate
that gives the chartered undertakers pause
about what they do for a living
when they see how a poet can dance
to the picture-music of the crazy wisdom
that sings the dead up out of the earth to their feet
without looking down from the mountaintops
or back at the valleys behind
to take the measure of their heart
to see if it's empty or full.
I let the new moon
feel the old moon's arms around it again
like the bright vacancy and dark abundance
of what's joyfully absurd and playful about life
whether it's doing a sword dance with words
or dancing in blue heron feathers
like a shaman among waterbirds
longing for enlightenment
like a tantric star map
to break the jinx of their prayer-wheels.
Or dancing to bullets like a greenhorn
in the main street of nineteenth century Dodge
or like me out here in the country dark
alone with six thousand visible stars
eleven miles outside of Westport
spreading my wings under the sign
of the Eagle and the Swan going down in the west
to add my phoenix to the feathers of the burning sumac
and grabbing the lightning lance of the thunderbirds
like a serpent from their talons
hold it up to the stars to the east and the west
like the wavelength of a crazy insight
into the dark word of the living light
that makes me dance my way
out of time
out of place
out of my mind
without leaving anyone or anything behind.

poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mama Mary the wishing mother

your name echo to the outmost deepest soul
in pour heart remembered the pain and suffering
of a mother waiting her son to die, in a most
cruel form of death in the human history, walking
in the Calvary carrying the pole that stand and
witness by thousand of men and million of angels
in heaven

as the prophet prophesied, Jesus the Christ
will die in witness to the living God that beyond our
human lives, someone is the Father, Allah, the
Adonia, the source of everything that created in the
universe, the giver the compassionate healer of
life we breath

a mother and a consoler of a son, is not only
physical, emotional psychological and self
castration, but a inner self rejection of life, deep that
only our soul can feel the tremendous sacred blade
of sorrow, and the scars it takes would be through
eternity

leaving the wound of her soul of Mama Mary,
brings the immortality of memories of her soul until
forever, this pain is always be remembered every
moment when each soul is rejected to the path of
holiness, her constant wish is that every tears
wishes the faithful children, to be with her in the
right highway of sacredness

the tears and the wish to be in the paradise is
always open, for Mama Mary with open heart and
hands will leads us to eternity, where each one of
her children will be with her in the place, where the
Father prepare for us.

(dedicated to Mama Maria in her birthday 09-08-08)

poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words Of Tears..: '(

tears speak
what words can't speak
tears tell
what words can't tell
tears express
what words can't express
tears create the magic
what words can't create
pain tears heart
pain tears the life
pain has teared my heart
pain has teared my life
the pain he gave me
i can't forget
i still remember
his breath
his voice still rings in my ear
his presence is still felt
i seem to see his face in the crowd
why? why?
his soul lives on in me
yet it is the physical frame
why can i feel his pain
is it that thread of love
that binds us till restrain..

poem by Shania Bhayana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Guy Like You

why is it
that you
manage to
leave me in tears

I know that I
was just a friend
but now I can't
look at you the same

it's been weeks
since we last talked
but to my heart
it's been years

everyone knows
that I've crashed and burned
but no one knows
the truth I feel for you

I've felt your pain
you hope and dreams
but why is it
that you don't feel my pain

I want to cry
every time that I
see you there
it's too much for me

I've been hurt
many times before
but none has hurt
as bad as this

my heart is pounding
this is true
you're the cure
if only you knew

you know a little
how I feel
but you don't know
that you mean so much more

you are the smile
I have when I wake
you're in the dreams
I don't want to wake from

I need you
right here and now
I need you're smile
I need you're grace

but you left me broken
more than you'd guess
but now i see
you're far from me

you're dreams go
further than mine
I guess I've gatta learn
the pains of love

maybe my problem is
not that you hurt me
but that I won't give up
and see it be

I know what everyone says
some say it's so cute
that me out of anyone
is falling for a guy like you

you are far from normal
and that I love
how you're so open
and will push for dreams

you are like
an open book
that I thought
I could read fine

but as it turns out
I was wrong again
I'm such a fool
whenever I'm around you

I truly care for you
yes I said it before
but nothing can break
these feelings for you

only you can make me
crash and burn
I know I said I would for you
but it's all too much

you have this smile
that I can't forget
no matter what I do
I always think of you

you're my inspiration
to reach for the stars
but to me the stars
resemble your eyes

I gave you my heart
but now I see
it was just foolishness
for thinking of you and me

I've shed some tears
but that's nothing new
nor is what I feel
everyday for you

i wake with a smile
because i get to see you
I wake up with pain
because you broke me

it's all so confusing
what I've been through
only because now I wish
I never told you.

poem by Katherine Bryce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pain Pain by cedrick dennis

Pain Pain over here pain over there Pain in my heart pain in my soul Pain in my mind Pain in my skin pain in my bones Pain being caused left and right Pain being caused till the heart bleeds red Pain being caused till the skin and bone rip Pain being caused till you break into tears Pain at school Pain at home Pain in my head, pain in my heart Pain in my mind, pain in my soul Pain happening in my sleep Pain happening in my thoughts Pain happening when I’m alone Pain happening in the shower, in my room, in my bed, in my house where I’m all alone Pain happening every hour, every minute, every second of my life Pain caused by anger and hate Pain caused by hurt Pain caused by greed Pain caused by sorrow and depression Pain caused by grief and confusion Pain caused by your family and friends Pain caused by the world Pain caused by people you love Pain driving me crazy Causing me to take pills till it fills up my veins I go to sleep never to wake up and see that light The light that will end my pain for good

poem by Cedrick Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Would Miss You Were You Not So Deep Inside

I would miss you if you weren't so deep inside.
I would send the fireflies out like a search party
to beat the bushes and the stumps to see where you hide
were you not the stars within that lead me home.
I would cry out in anger and tears, World, you are not fair,
were you not the mystic intimate of my indignation.
I would look upon the illuminated world
thriving in its garden, and accuse the sun of being blind
did I not see more in your eclipse, the abundance
of your darkness, than I do by the vacant light of day.

Let others bathe like birds in the fountainmouths
of happier lyrics, I drown in your watershed,
a starfish on the moon, and the darkness shines
like a nightsea the colour of your eyes. And there's a sky
full of shipwrecked constellations without lifeboats
that went down into fathomless time with all hands on board
like a cargo of bones that reached its destination
by giving them all up to you, like yarrow sticks
to the Book of Changes, whether you read them as such or not.
Nine in the fifth place. Enlightenment in hell.
I am the nightwatchman with the moon for a lantern
that strikes the bell of his heart three times and says
all is well, all is well on the bottom of the sea.

I would be planting supernovas like a terrorist with i.e.d.s
in the Milky Way by now to add to the chaos
were you not the black hole of a galactic inspiration
that's mastered me like a magic latent in the heart
to burn the sum of all my destructions in a blaze of insight
by which the light is known to the light, the way
a tree is by a breeze, or ashes know the fire's out.
How could I reach out to you except with your own hands?
How could I speak to you in any way you'd understand
did not your voice coax the words from my mouth
like a dream grammar of sacred syllables betokening
the things of the earth like the echo of a prayer we forgot?

Too intimate to be the principle of anything
and yet your impersonality can only be approached
with tenderness, like a feather floating through space,
or the cloud that grounds the mountain like the cornerstone
of a temple to the emptiness it floats upon.
Were you not the valley my grieving shadow wanders through
like the lachrymose theme of another lonely psalm
trying to palm itself off as poem, how could the eagles
shriek eureka in the heights at the very next insight
into the nature of your vulnerability moving down below?

We might both dance to the same music as if it were true,
but you're the silent witness when I listen to the wind,
you're the charmed locket of darkness the light conceals,
you're the secret jewel that's wholly transparent
to all the eyes in the universe that have spent their lives
looking for you like a sky that's been hidden from sight
right over their heads and under their feet
like an atmosphere and ocean that never left the moon.
Even here on earth, the silver fish are frenzied in your tide.
Lunar horses graze like waves on your seagrass
and run wild when you spook them like an ocean
with a bit in your hands, and the look of an angry teacher.

If your absence were not deeper than my solitude
how could I resist the consolations of oblivion
and carry on as if I'd never missed you? Who
would I long for to affirm my presence in this emptiness
that engulfs me like an eye with something in it
like a star that can't be washed out? I was not
born a warrior to surrender to anyone less than you.
I do not open my heart and my mouth to sing
lullabies to houseflies growing dozy on the windowsills
as the cold comes on like the sheet music of ice.
Who would I dedicate the works of my nightshift to
like the journal of a dark demon writing to himself
about the spiritual intricacies of jumping from paradise
just to meet you naked in the garden again
as if we were born to be exiled together by the pain
that is visited like swarms of killer bees upon those
who break taboos like white canes over our knees
and throw their cornerstones around like dice
to entice blind luck into taking a chance on their disobedience?
Who would inherit the crazy wisdom of my human divinity
if I did not know how many lives you'll outlive me
like the randomness of an alibi based upon a truth
that reprieves everyone from death on desolation row
by undermining the limits of our culpability with compassion.

You, the sorceress of meaning, you, the beast mistress
of my savage emotions, you, the fire sylph at the hearth
of my homeless wandering into these evictions of self
that bury the days with no names on their graves.
You shake the lightning like a spear of fury in a lion's skull.
You wake the dragon from its dream of lotus fire
You touch me on a night when nothing else will
as if I were real, and the solidity of my atoms sublimates
like a ghost of dry ice into a mirage in space
so I could see in the grand paradigm of things
even the most enduring pyramids in a desert
are the work of the wind when the mind is inspired
to move things around like the grave goods of the heart
in the hands of a tomb robber that frees us of them
to travel light without baggage through the gates of Orion.
The past has no need of any other afterlife than the present
nor the future the prelude of a promise of better things to come.
Born into a life with a ferocious childhood for an introduction,
I have grown young again in the ashes of those fires,
like a skin transplant of flowers over a burnt face
to hide the scars, and give the stars some space.

poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Worlds

Like a dream, my life has gone past me
Taken so soon but love burns so true
Love never ending that shines like the stars in the sky
And I sing but so few can hear me
Words from the heart to set your souls free
Time has no distance deep in love
Know everything goes
Everyone knows theres something beyond us
There is a light believe me
Time turns into dust
Cry if you must
But love is the answer
Bringing two worlds together
Who can see the secrets that bind us?
Back to the earth til love rings so true
Eyes of compassion and tears of a deepening heart
I have seen the pain of a cruel world
And reached out a hand for suffering to ease
Bringing some comfort to the tears
Know everything goes
Everyone knows theres something beyond us
There is a light believe me
Time turns into dust
Cry if you must
But love is the answer
Bringing two worlds together into one
A mountain of flowers and the perfume
Floating so high
Hush and the stillness in a million minds
Know everything goes
Everyone knows theres something beyond us
There is a light believe me
Time turns into dust
Cry if you must
But love is the answer
Bringing two worlds together into one

song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am just a Child of Beloved nature!

I am not that,
I am not this,
I am that words can't say,
Just like unpredictable,
I Live like child of the nature,
Having sunshine in my mind,
Having cloudy sky too,

Just like a child playing with mother,
I see stars in her sky reflect in my eyes,
Those stars also brighten my dreams!
My need she fulfills,
For my questions she responds with great answers,
I am loving my mother,
I dance with her jumping with frogs and flying with butterflies,
Singing with birds,
mew with kittens, playing with puppy,
Seeing all of them as my own,
I am the child and never like to live more than that!

Life is not real for me,
Just flow of time make me sleep, dream and awake,
Work is my play, problems are quiz,
Whole life is not a puzzle,
Only wonderful play of rainbow of colourful light,
Pain or happiness are momentary,
I feel everything temporary,
Self is that playing with self alone,
Self is that ever like to live like a kid,
neither born nor die,
Never aging truth beyond time is me!
I am a part of its play,
I have to play a role,
I learn to act and play my role,
years after years roll,
I too roll life after life,
Yet remain as kid for ever!

I complain about my pain,
She has that ever soft hands to wipe tears!

When I am sad, she sends birds to sing for me,
when I am mad, she has that teacher to correct me,
She is my beloved mother, I am her loving kid!
I am learning what I am,
She teach me well with all love!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Silent Ruin

(olivia newton-john)
Wash the blood from my hands
Take the pain from my heart
I just cant understand
What it is that we do
Whats the thread running through
The heritage of man
How can I justify to my child what were doing
When I cant explain it myself
And if I close my eyes to the wild silent ruin
Then Im just like everyone else
And I cry for their beauty; I cry for their pain
And I cry that my child may not see them again
Will I leave her a legacy shes being denied
Oh I pray that we will when I kiss her goodbye
How can I justify to my child what were doing
When I cant explain it myself
And if I close my eyes to the wild silent ruin
Then Im just like everyone else
Oh I dream of a time in the future
When we can renurture the damage weve done
For although theres a dark side to all human nature
Our true selves are born in the sun
Our true selves are born in the sun
Please explain to me what we have done

song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In You

In you I come to the end of roads,
and an alphabet of burning wings
falls from an indigo sky
like meteors trying to write
the unsayable in a slash of light,
in a language of luminous scars
the night beatifies with mystic knowledge
that wants to name you
so deeply in thresholds and stars
the charged silence
is giving birth to an indelible mouth,
a doorway of blood,
an ancient grammar of fire
the wind puts on like a robe
to scry the darkness for a voice
that could fill the goblets
of the moon's dead seas
with the wine of a radiant wound,
so much within me
already the tongue of a bell
that can taste you like blackberries.
The whole of you
in every single dropp of your eyes,
you are the black swan
of the eclipse that rares its reflection in water,
the dark orchid in the shadow of the dragon
that sways like a bell in the night,
even your absence a shape of cherishing,
a harvest of shadows beyond the light
of the lamp that burns for you.
Within the deepest abyss of myself
where the heart stands alone
like a single black pillar
in the twilight wasteland of the world,
a mysterious temple to the ultimacy
of having been here once
to suffer the passage of form and time,
everything a gesture of space
that thaws back into itself,
I have written your name
in the hourglass of my blood
like a whisper of secret ink
that once voiced the light to be
and shook the stars like wheat
out of its blind abundance
and will be remembered forever
as the first intimacy of the sea,
and there is the rumour
of a dream in the air,
the fragrance of an approach,
that out of an ocean of light
the tide will embody a woman
like the shore of an island
littered with fingertips and kisses
enmeshed like galaxies and starfish
in the exhalation of her veils
and our lips will meet like archers,
and our bodies will sing like arrows
sunk like orchards through the heart
and long after the last flame of life is shed,
the night will silence the birds
in the groves where we bled like poppies
to open the gates of the mystery
like keys and rain, or the rosary of black pearls
that chants its prayers to the night
like the slow alarm of autumn geese
in the eyes of a human face.
I try to say what can't be said,
pouring my spirit
into the wineskin of every word,
but my heart is a larger apple
than the bough of my voice can bear,
and the silence
that would erect temples everywhere like flowers
spun from the auroral silks of my soul
and perfume the air with the pollen of sacred fireflies,
every emotion a priest with a shaven head
to honour the moon
climbing the stairwell within me
of a million horizons at once
in every breathless step,
falls away behind me like the wake of a sinking ship
that lowers me into my coffin like a lifeboat
or a message in a bottle
that pleads like wine with the emptiness
for an alphabet that isn't in arrears to time
to say you to the night
in a lightning breath of life beyond
these elemental likenesses I carve
from a quarry of stars.
And I know I ask for immortal children
from a human womb,
and wide as my powers are
to exceed the sky with homing birds,
to adorn the dead branch with windows
that dazzle the roots of dawn,
I am the ashes of a black star in daylight,
a stone man with a chain for a tongue
when I try to swim like Atlantis
through the depths of your shining within
and the last word, the last life
to flash across my mind as I drown
again and again like a pulse
in the embrace of your beauty
is always the world as it is
before anything was said.

poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In You

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