Quatrains
MASKS
BLACK Tragedy lets slip her grim disguise
And shows you laughing lips and roguish eyes;
But when, unmasked, gay Comedy appears,
How wan her cheeks are, and what heavy tears!
MEMORIES
TWO things there are with Memory will abide,
Whatever else befall, while life flows by:
That soft cold hand-touch at the altar side;
The thrill that shook you at your child’s first cry.
CIRCUMSTANCE
LINKED to a clod, harassed, and sad
With sordid cares, she knew not life was sweet
Who should have moved in marble halls, and had
Kings and crown-princes at her feet.
ON READING ——
GREAT thoughts in crude, unshapely verse set forth
Lose half their preciousness, and ever must.
Unless the diamond with its own rich dust
Be cut and polished, it seems little worth.
QUITS
IF my best wines mislike thy taste,
And my best service win thy frown,
Then tarry not, I bid thee haste;
There ’s many another Inn in town.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
A Greek Girl
I may not weep, not weep, and he is dead.
A weary, weary weight of tears unshed
Through the long day in my sad heart I bear;
The horrid sun with all unpitying glare
Shines down into the dreary weaving-room,
Where clangs the ceaseless clatter of the loom,
And ceaselessly deft maiden-fingers weave
The fine-wrought web; and I from morn till eve
Work with the rest, and when folk speak to me
I smile hard smiles; while still continually
The silly stream of maiden speech flows on:--
And now at length they talk of him that's gone,
Lightly lamenting that he died so soon--
Ah me! ere yet his life's sun stood at noon.
Some praise his eyes, some deem his body fair,
And some mislike the colour of his hair!
Sweet life, sweet shape, sweet eyes, and sweetest hair,
What form, what hue, save Love's own, did ye wear?
I may not weep, not weep, for very shame.
He loved me not. One summer's eve he came
To these our halls, my father's honoured guest,
And seeing me, saw not. If his lips had prest
My lips, but once, in love; his eyes had sent
One love-glance into mine, I had been content,
And deemed it great joy for one little life;
Nor envied other maids the crown of wife:
The long sure years, the merry children-band--
Alas, alas, I never touched his hand!
And now my love is dead that loved not me.
Thrice-blest, thrice-crowned, of gods thrice-lovèd she--
That other, fairer maid, who tombward brings
Her gold, shorn locks and piled-up offerings
Of fragrant fruits, rich wines, and spices rare,
And cakes with honey sweet, with saffron fair;
And who, unchecked by any thought of shame,
May weep her tears, and call upon his name,
With burning bosom prest to the cold ground,
Knowing, indeed, that all her life is crown'd,
Thrice-crowned, thrice honoured, with that love of his;--
No dearer crown on earth is there, I wis.
While yet the sweet life lived, more light to bear
Was my heart's hunger; when the morn was fair,
And I with other maidens in a line
Passed singing through the city to the shrine,
Oft in the streets or crowded market-place
I caught swift glimpses of the dear-known face;
Or marked a stalwart shoulder in the throng;
Or heard stray speeches as we passed along,
In tones more dear to me than any song.
These, hoarded up with care, and kept apart,
Did serve as meat and drink my hungry heart.
And now for ever has my sweet love gone;
And weary, empty days I must drag on,
Till all the days of all my life be sped,
By no thought cheered, by no hope comforted.
For if indeed we meet among the shades,
How shall he know me from the other maids?--
Me, that had died to save his body pain!
Alas, alas, such idle thoughts are vain!
O cruel, cruel sunlight, get thee gone!
O dear, dim shades of eve, come swiftly on!
That when quick lips, keen eyes, are closed in sleep,
Through the long night till dawn I then may weep.
Old Age Remembered
I never thought it would happen to me…
so, I wouldn’t have been reading this poem…
but now it seems it has. And now
I’m writing it. Or trying to. Big mistake?
So do I have
anything worth passing on?
You know, the Polonius Balonyus stuff:
If I were your age, boy,
this is what I’d be and do, yawn zzzz….
Let’s think instead, of some more lively head
in Sunday supplement style –
‘Old Age – Tragedy or Comedy? ’
It’s just so personal, and the only one
to really weigh it up is you. Or me.
I’m wiser, happier (on the happy days)
than ever in my life; but then, who cares?
Well, maybe one or two. On the other hand,
there are few illusions left;
would one have been glad
to have no illusions, at, say, twenty years of age?
Or, to be almost beyond pain, or pleasure,
or attachments of any sort -
this in some young man
taking his vows as monk,
would be a solemn commitment for a lifetime; but
when you’re old – easier or harder then to bear?
then, short-term memory shorter, long-term memory longer -
that's wonderful - provided you have no regrets...
the memories come flooding back
of just how happy, happy childhood is...
barely remembered now, how adolescence
is the most painful time of life...
To cut a long life-story short –
the comedy’s more comic; the tragedy’s more tragic.
So I wonder how Shakespeare, having studied both
and then thrown his books away,
living a comfortable (or was it?) Stratford retirement -
a spot of bowls, a friendly pub,
grandchildren, his or of his relatives,
to keep him young or tire him out or both -
I wonder what passed through his worldspanned mind
as he passed passing time? As his time passed?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Black Comedy
Sweet cunning eyes try to take from me
Youre too young, Im too wise, this is parody
A taste of what you like can be fatal sometimes
Arms that hold you tight but leave you cold, so cold
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
Love, maybe lust, made me sweet sixteen
So my soul lost control, nothing in between
A taste of what you want can be brutal sometimes
Arms that hold you tight but leave you cold, so cold
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
song performed by by Culture Club
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Echo
Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.
O dream, how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.
Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live
My very life again though cold in death:
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low
As long ago, my love, how long ago.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti (1893)
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!
Revolving (Nafaka)
There's a reason for joy
consider the circumstance of life
there's a reason to remember
the circumstance of life
there's a reason to understand
the circumstance of life
revolvong revolving
in the shade of reasonong
the circumstance of life
a bitter taste of captivity
consider the circumstance of life
the breath widens the freedom
consider the circumstance of life
the feet can move the hands can touch
finally
consider the circumstance of life
revolving revolving
in the shade of feelings
the circumstance of life
pulling the trees
down the roads of darkness
killing the pain
in the shade of a cage
revolving revolving revolving
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Feel Flows
Unfolding enveloping missiles of soul
Recall senses sadly
Mirage like soft blue like lanterns below
To light the way gladly
Whether whistling heavens clouds disappear
Where the wind withers memory
Whether whiteness whisks soft shadows away
Feel flows (white hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feel goes (black hot glistening shadowy flows)
Unbending never ending tablets of time
Record all the yearning
Unfearing all appearing message divine
Eases the burning
Whether willing witness waits at my mind
Whether hope dampens memory
Whether wondrous will stands tall at my side
Feel flows (white hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feel goes (black hot glistening shadowy flows)
Encasing all embracing wreath of repose
Engulfs all the senses
Imposing, unclosing thoughts that compose
Retire the fences
Whether wholly heartened life fades away
Whether harps heal the memory
Whether wholly heartened life fades away
Whether wondrous will stands tall at my side
Whether whiteness whisks soft shadows away
Feel goes (white hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feel flows (black hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feel goes (white hot glistening shadowy flows)
Feelings to grow (white hot glistening shadowy flows)
White hot glistening shadowy flows
White hot glistening shadowy flows
White hot glistening shadowy flows
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
L'Envoi
We've finished up the filthy war;
We've won what we were fighting for . . .
(Or have we? I don't know).
But anyway I have my wish:
I'm back upon the old Boul' Mich',
And how my heart's aglow!
Though in my coat's an empty sleeve,
Ah! do not think I ever grieve
(The pension for it, I believe,
Will keep me on the go).
So I'll be free to write and write,
And give my soul to sheer delight,
Till joy is almost pain;
To stand aloof and watch the throng,
And worship youth and sing my song
Of faith and hope again;
To seek for beauty everywhere,
To make each day a living prayer
That life may not be vain.
To sing of things that comfort me,
The joy in mother-eyes, the glee
Of little ones at play;
The blessed gentleness of trees,
Of old men dreaming at their ease
Soft afternoons away;
Of violets and swallows' wings,
Of wondrous, ordinary things
In words of every day.
To rhyme of rich and rainy nights,
When like a legion leap the lights
And take the town with gold;
Of taverns quaint where poets dream,
Of cafes gaudily agleam,
And vice that's overbold;
Of crystal shimmer, silver sheen,
Of soft and soothing nicotine,
Of wine that's rich and old,
Of gutters, chimney-tops and stars,
Of apple-carts and motor-cars,
The sordid and sublime;
Of wealth and misery that meet
In every great and little street,
Of glory and of grime;
Of all the living tide that flows --
From princes down to puppet shows --
I'll make my humble rhyme.
So if you like the sort of thing
Of which I also like to sing,
Just give my stuff a look;
And if you don't, no harm is done --
In writing it I've had my fun;
Good luck to you and every one --
And so
Here ends my book.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lament
PEACE, your little child is dead:
Peace, I cannot weep with you;
I have no more tears to shed;
I have mourned my baby too—
I, that ne'er was wooed or wed.
Love has looked within your eyes,
Love has filled your hungry heart;
You have borne the babe, your prize;
You have blossomed, done your part,
Though the flower faded lies.
But to me was love denied—
God had said it might not be;
Still my hungry hopes abide;
All the motherhood in me
Aches—and starves, unsatisfied.
How my soul has yearned for thee,
Sweet, sweet unborn child of mine!
How thy life would tenderly
Round thy mother's life entwine—
Hope of hopes that may not be.
How thy hands would pluck my breast!
I have felt them o'er and o'er,
And thy soft, sweet skin caressed,
Baby mine I never bore!
Did I dream so?—dreams are best.
You have nothing now to fear,
Mother; you have fondled him,
Held his pretty face so near,
Laid your lips to each soft limb—
He is dead, but he was dear.
You have something you may mourn,
Some sweet memory to kiss;
I am lonelier, more forlorn;
God has left me only this—
My sweet babe that was not born.
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To My Wife
Oft in the night, from this lone room
I long to fly o’er land and sea,
To pierce the dark, dividing gloom,
And join myself to thee.
And thou to me wouldst gladly fly,
I know thee well, my own true wife!
We feel, that when we live not nigh,
We lose the crown of life.
Yet soon I hope, at dead of night,
To meet where all is strange beside,
And mid the train’s resounding flight
To have thee by my side.
Then shall I feel that thou art near,
Joined hand to hand and soul to soul;
Short will that happy night appear,
As through the dark we roll.
Then shall the secret of the will,
That dares not enter into bliss;
That longs for love, yet lingers still,
Be solved in one long kiss.
I, drinking deep of thy rich love,
Thou feeling all the strength of mine,
Our souls will rise in faith above
The cares which make us pine.
Till I give thee, thou giving me,
As that which either loves the best,
To Him that loved us both, that He
May take us to His rest.
Wandering and weak are all our prayers,
And fleeting half the gifts we crave;
Love only, cleansed from sins and cares,
Shall live beyond the grave.
Strengthen our love, O Lord, that we
May in Thine own great love believe
And, opening all our soul to Thee,
May Thy free gift receive.
All powers of mind, all force of will,
May lie in dust when we are dead,
But love is ours, and shall be still,
When earth and seas are fled.
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On The Lonely Side Of Town
On the lonely side of town
When no one else is around
Her brown eyes cry those tears
Over her loves from the past years
Her heart is breaking without a sound
On the lonely side of town
She feels just like a clown
With tears pouring from her eyes
With no rhymn or reason why
But life has turned her upside down
On the lonely side of town
Her head is hanging down
Shaking from side to side
With not much left of her pride
There on that lonely side of town
On the lonely side of town
She is lost behind her frown
But in ways she may never know
Her love fine it's way to show
And by her love she is bound
On the lonely side of town
You can hear the old train sound
Reminding her of those days
When life glowed with brighter rays
Even on that lonely side of town
On the lonely side of town
She is loved by leaps and bounds
Even though she may not see
Love'S the only thing that's free
And it creaps up on her without a sound
poem by Norman Hale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Hidden Life
To tell the Saviour all my wants,
How pleasing is the task!
Nor less to praise Him when He grants
Beyond what I can ask.
My laboring spirit vainly seeks
To tell but half the joy,
With how much tenderness He speaks,
And helps me to reply.
Nor were it wise, nor should I choose,
Such secrets to declare;
Like precious wines their taste they lose,
Exposed to open air.
But this with boldness I proclaim,
Nor care if thousands hear,
Sweet is the ointment of His name,
Not life is half so dear.
And can you frown, my former friends,
Who knew what once I was,
And blame the song that thus commends
The Man who bore the cross?
Trust me, I draw the likeness true,
And not as fancy paints;
Such honor may He give to you,
For such have all His saints.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Olney Hymn 47: The Hidden Life
To tell the Saviour all my wants,
How pleasing is the task!
Nor less to praise Him when He grants
Beyond what I can ask.
My laboring spirit vainly seeks
To tell but half the joy,
With how much tenderness He speaks,
And helps me to reply.
Nor were it wise, nor should I choose,
Such secrets to declare;
Like precious wines their taste they lose,
Exposed to open air.
But this with boldness I proclaim,
Nor care if thousands hear,
Sweet is the ointment of His name,
Not life is half so dear.
And can you frown, my former friends,
Who knew what once I was,
And blame the song that thus commends
The Man who bore the cross?
Trust me, I draw the likeness true,
And not as fancy paints;
Such honor may He give to you,
For such have all His saints.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Only A Dream
METHOUGHT I saw thee yesternight
Sit by me in the olden guise,
The white robes and the pain foregone,
Weaving instead of amaranth crown
A web of mortal dyes.
I cried, 'Where hast thou been so long?'
(The mild eyes turned and mutely smiled
'Why dwellest thou in far-off lands?
What is that web within thy hands?'
--'I work for thee, my child.'
I clasped thee in my arms and wept;
I kissed thee oft with passion wild:
I poured fond questions, tender blame;
Still thy sole answer was the same,--
'I work for thee, my child.'
'Come and walk with me as of old.'
Then camest thou, silent as before;
We passed along that churchyard way
We used to tread each Sabbath day,
Till one trod earth no more.
I felt thy hand upon my arm,
Beside me thy meek face I saw,
Yet through the sweet familiar grace
A something spiritual could trace
That left a nameless awe.
Trembling I said, 'Long years have passed
Since thou wert from my side beguiled;
Now thou'rt returned and all shall be
As was before.'--Half-pensively
Thou answered'st--'Nay, my child.'
I pleaded sore: 'Hadst thou forgot
The love wherewith we loved of old,--
The long sweet days of converse blest,
The nights of slumber on thy breast,--
Wert thou to me grown cold?'
There beamed on me those eyes of heaven
That wept no more, but ever smiled;
'Love only is love in that Home
Where I abide--where, till thou come,
I work for thee, my child.'
If from my sight thou passedst then,
Or if my sobs the dream exiled,
I know not: but in memory clear
I seem these strange words still to hear,
'I work for thee, my child.'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lets Make A Memory
Orbison/melson
Come a little closer
Dont you tell me no sir
Lets make a memory
Come on now
Come on and give me your kiss now
What are you gonna miss now
Lets make a memory, a memory
Lets make a memory
Make a memory
Yes lets make a memory together
One that will last and last forever
Sweet baby
Baby hold me tight then
Squeeze with all your might then
Lets make a memory
Come on now
Just have a little fun for
What do you think were young for?
Lets make a memory
Make a memory
Yes lets make a memory together
One that will last and last forever
Come on now
Let yourself let go now
Dont let love grow cold now
Lets make a memory
Sweet baby
Forget about the past now
Weve got a love thatll last for
Now and forever we will be
Making memories....
Making memories
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: God, I wish to be a speck of dust near Thy feet!
I happen to be just a speck of dust,
O God, how can I ever question Thee?
To be worthy to touch Thy feet, I must
Be lucky to be blessed by Thee, sinfree!
And if Thou walk’st the road, my home nearby,
How happy my heart and my mind would be?
When back to life I’ll come, after I die
I wish to see Thee in Heaven, surely.
And though from earthly clod, Thou had me made,
Mysteriously but with a divine aim,
Let me from Thee through sins of mine, ne’er fade,
But reach the place of Mirth from whence I came.
Let me a speck of dust lie near Thy feet,
And never be displaced or ev’r retreat.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Child's Music Lesson
Why weep ye in your innocent toil at all?
Sweet little hands, why halt and tremble so?
Full many a wrong note falls, but let it fall!
Each note to me is like a golden glow;
Each broken cadence like a mourning call;
Nay, clear and smooth I would not have you go,
Soft little hands, upon the curtained threshold set
Of this long life of labour, and unrestful fret.
Soft sunlight flickers on the checkered green:
Warm winds are stirring round my dreaming seat:
Among the yellow pumpkin blooms, that lean
Their crumpled rims beneath the heavy heat,
The striped bees in lazy labour glean
From bell to bell with golden-feathered feet;
Yet even here the voices of hard life go by;
Outside, the city strains with its eternal cry.
Here, as I sit-the sunlight on my face,
And shadows of green leaves upon mine eyes-
My heart, a garden in a hidden place,
Is full of folded buds of memories.
Stray hither then with all your old time grace,
Child-voices, trembling from the uncertain keys;
Play on, ye little fingers, touch the settled gloom,
And quickly, one by one, my waiting buds will bloom.
Ah me, I may not set my feet again
In any part of that old garden dear,
Or pluck one widening blossom, for my pain;
But only at the wicket gaze I hear:
Old scents creep into mine inactive brain,
Smooth scents of things, I may not come anear;
I see, far off, old beaten pathways they adorn;
I cannot feel with hands the blossom of the thorn.
Toil on, sweet hands; once more I see the child;
The little child, that was myself, appears,
And all the old time beauties, undefiled,
Shine back to me across the opening years,
Quick griefs, that made the tender bosom wild,
Short blinding gusts, that died in passionate tears,
Sweet life, with all its change, that now so happy seems,
With all its child-heart glories, and untutored dreams.
Play on into the golden sunshine so,
Sweeter than all great artists' labouring:
I too was like you once, an age ago:
God keep you, dimpled fingers, for you bring
Quiet gliding ghosts to me of joy and woe,
No certain things at all that thrill or sting,
But only sounds and scents and savours of things bright,
No joy or aching pain; but only dim delight.
poem by Archibald Lampman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sensuous Lips (THE DEPTH OF MAN)
I kissed the most sensuous lips that I ever saw.
The most sensuous lips and I wanted more.
Her lips so soft, so gentle, so moist.
And the whispering of her voice.
Why is it that you love my lips so?
Is there something that I should know?
I said: when I kiss your lips I feel like
I am floating on air, and it relieves
All my worries and cares.
It puts me into a place I’ve never been before
And I’m wanting more and more.
It’s like taking a trip to the heavens above
And it shows me all your love.
Like a baby in the warmth of the mothers stomach
Safe and never rejected- but always protected.
How can a woman s lips put a mans soul on fire
And fill his heart with a burning desire?
How can her lips make you feel that you
Could move heaven and earth?
How can she show you what life is worth?
Her lips so gentle, so soft, so moist
So refreshing, so everlasting!
The taste of her lips like the taste of
The most desirable nectar on this earth
Filling my body and soul
Making me complete- making me whole.
Why do I love your lips so?
This is why!
And now you know.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Weeper
HAIL, sister springs,
Parents of silver-footed rills!
Ever bubbling things,
Thawing crystal, snowy hills!
Still spending, never spent; I mean
Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene.
Heavens thy fair eyes be;
Heavens of ever-falling stars;
'Tis seed-time still with thee,
And stars thou sow'st whose harvest dares
Promise the earth to countershine
Whatever makes Heaven's forehead fine.
Every morn from hence
A brisk cherub something sips
Whose soft influence
Adds sweetness to his sweetest lips;
Then to his music: and his song
Tastes of this breakfast all day long.
When some new bright guest
Takes up among the stars a room,
And Heaven will make a feast,
Angels with their bottles come,
And draw from these full eyes of thine
Their Master's water, their own wine.
The dew no more will weep
The primrose's pale cheek to deck;
The dew no more will sleep
Nuzzled in the lily's neck:
Much rather would it tremble here,
And leave them both to be thy tear.
When sorrow would be seen
In her brightest majesty,
--For she is a Queen--
Then is she drest by none but thee:
Then and only then she wears
Her richest pearls--I mean thy tears.
Not in the evening's eyes,
When they red with weeping are
For the Sun that dies,
Sits Sorrow with a face so fair.
Nowhere but here did ever meet
Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet.
Does the night arise?
Still thy tears do fall and fall.
Does night lose her eyes?
Still the fountain weeps for all.
Let day and night do what they will,
Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still.
Not So long she lived
Will thy tomb report of thee;
But So long she grieved:
Thus must we date thy memory.
Others by days, by months, by years,
Measure their ages, thou by tears.
Say, ye bright brothers,
The fugitive sons of those fair eyes
Your fruitful mothers,
What make you here? What hopes can 'tice
You to be born? What cause can borrow
You from those nests of noble sorrow?
Whither away so fast
For sure the sordid earth
Your sweetness cannot taste,
Nor does the dust deserve your birth.
Sweet, whither haste you then? O say,
Why you trip so fast away?
We go not to seek
The darlings of Aurora's bed,
The rose's modest cheek,
Nor the violet's humble head.
No such thing: we go to meet
A worthier object--our Lord's feet.
poem by Richard Crashaw
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Only Thoughts
How long ago did you hold me last
The memories of what has been
How have we let time go so fast
I hope it slows before the end
Those times I miss, your soft embrace
Those beautiful eyes
Your lips taste
But now you wear your disguise
Trying to fool the world
The fake face is your demise
The truth will be unfurled
So why do you hide
My love frozen in time
Why do I feel this thorn in my side
With empty words I made to rhyme
I cannot fill the hole where your heart once was
For nothing can be so whole
Yet I try and nothing does
So time once again takes its toll
Will you hear me Scream?
Will you hear my cry?
Will we once again be a team?
Or will you leave me here to die?
Answer I search for but never find
My shattered soul
My broken mind
Thoughts will no longer fill my head
The pain of lose to much to bear
The pain of things you could have said
Now I seem the worse for wear
And though I know I'm a fool
A court jester
The kings tool
I say this now
and say it again
for I could never say it too much
I love you now
I loved you then
and my love will stay as such
poem by John Dillenger II
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Lover
with his fingers so soft they touch my face lightly
and with his arms so strong he holds me tight
as he kisses my lips i feel the love he has inside
he shows it and says it when he can
the look in his eyes gives me quite a surprise
just befor he says i love you
you can see it on him that he loves me
hes so beautiful yet so quiet most of the time
hes soft hearted to me and very sweet
hes always there
with his beauty bringing hope to my world
an the thoughts of wanting to wake up
and the thoughts of wanting to live
every time i hear his words
the desire in them is clear
the craving for him unbearable most of the time
yet suttle and quiet like him
hes the only one who has my heart
and the power to break them so easily
i long to feel him close and hear his voice so sweet
his beauty could never be taken nore tainted to me
he is the lover my sweet man
the one who catches me an helps me land
he helps me stand up and holds my hand
he never lets me down nore lets me fall
for him i am thankfull hes my lover moste of all
poem by Sandy Vanity
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!