Space And Dread and The Dark
Space and dread and the dark -
Over a livid stretch of sky
Cloud-monsters crawling, like a funeral train
Of huge, primeval presences
Stooping beneath the weight
Of some enormous, rudimentary grief;
While in the haunting loneliness
The far sea waits and wanders with a sound
As of the trailing skirts of Destiny,
Passing unseen
To some immitigable end
With her grey henchman, Death.
What larve, what spectre is this
Thrilling the wilderness to life
As with the bodily shape of Fear?
What but a desperate sense,
A strong foreboding of those dim
Interminable continents, forlorn
And many-silenced, in a dusk
Inviolable utterly, and dead
As the poor dead it huddles and swarms and styes
In hugger-mugger through eternity?
Life--life--let there be life!
Better a thousand times the roaring hours
When wave and wind,
Like the Arch-Murderer in flight
From the Avenger at his heel,
Storm through the desolate fastnesses
And wild waste places of the world!
Life--give me life until the end,
That at the very top of being,
The battle-spirit shouting in my blood,
Out of the reddest hell of the fight
I may be snatched and flung
Into the everlasting lull,
The immortal, incommunicable dream.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Related quotes
Exile
I
At dead of night about the dying fire
They told a story how the dead appear;
And men, grown still with fear,
Forgot their old desire
For those who once were dear,
And shook and trembled lest their dead be near.
Alas, poor dead who were so sweet and human!
How are you grown a menace and a blight
A thing to shun, a thing of evil omen,
Stealing unwelcome through the halls of night?,
Who knows? perhaps yourselves are much affrighted,
And struggle back, remote and bodiless,
Fearful of sounds unheard, visions unsighted,
Black echoes, and the bitter loneliness.
But for me, in my heart is no dread
Of the coming again of the dead,
But a terror of life, without one
Who made life to be life - and is gone.
II
Yes, at these tales of how the dead return,
Hope stirs within my spirit more than fear.
So strange, so strange it seems, you are not here,
And so unnatural to me 'tis to learn
The trick of life without you, year by year,
That not so strange could any specter be
Or fall of footsteps on the empty stair,
Or shapes discerned upon the shadowy air,
As is this haunting sense of vacancy,
And your persisting absence everywhere.
Ah, could I see, as in the tranquil past,
The form I long for - always and in vain, -
Should I not cry, like one released from pain:
'Dear and long absent, you return at last,
And life its natural aspect wears again!'
poem by Alice Duer Miller
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When I'm Dead And Gone
When I'm dead and gone
At my funeral don't play another sad song
I wanna see tears of joy not of sorrow
Remember this day for it will be gone tomorrow
I want people to celebrate my death day
The same way they celebrated my birthday
Remember the good things I've done in my life, and forget the bad
Remember our love, cause at times that's all we had
When I'm dead and gone, who would really miss me?
I would hope that the memory of me make people happy
I'd like to say I'm sorry to all those I've done wrong
And thanks to all who showed me love my whole life long
I have to get these feelings out before I'm dead and gone
Same may wonder why I'm doing this poem
Maybe I feel like my life is reaching its final storm
I rather say this right now right here
Cause later I may not be able to say nothing I fear
No I'm not ready to meet death.
But I rather for you to know now,
Then when I'm dead and gone to be thinking something else.
poem by Daniel Chapman
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Since I Have Felt The Sense Of Death
Since I have felt the sense of death,
Since I have borne its dread, its fear—
Oh, how my life has grown more dear
Since I have felt the sense of death!
Sorrows are good, and cares are small,
Since I have known the loss of all.
Since I have felt the sense of death,
And death forever at my side—
Oh, how the world has opened wide
Since I have felt the sense of death!
My hours are jewels that I spend,
For I have seen the hours end.
Since I have felt the sense of death,
Since I have looked on that black night—
My inmost brain is fierce with light
Since I have felt the sense of death.
O dark, that made my eyes to see!
O death, that gave my life to me!
poem by Helen Hoyt
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Life Vs Mylife
LIFE
IS HAPPY AND GOOD
MY LIFE
IS FULL OF SHAME AND REGRET
LIFE
CONSISTS OF EVERYONE
MY LIFE
CONSISTS OF ONLY ME
LIFE
CONSISTS OF LIFE
MY LIFE
CONSISTS OF DEATH AND PAIN
LIFE
TOLD ME WHAT I KNOW NOW
MY LIFE
HELPED ME BELIEVE IT
LIFE
TAUGHT ME TO BE STRONG
MY LIFE TAUGHT ME TO BECOME IT
LIFE
IS THE SUBJECT
MY LIFE
IS THE REASON
LIFE
TOLD ME TO FIGHT
MY LIFE
TOLD ME TO GIVE UP
LIFE
THOUGHT I ACTUALLY WOULD GIVE UP
MY LIFE
KEPT ME STRONG FOR ME, MY FAMLY, MY NIECE (RIP) , AND MY FRIENDS
LOVE THE POETIC PRINCESS
poem by Michole Petersen
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The House of the Life: 36. Life-in-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That liv'd but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanish'd hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stor'd apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimm'd in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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XXXVI Life-In-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That liv'd but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanish'd hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stor'd apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimm'd in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Sonnet XXXVI: Life-In-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all,
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That lived but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanished hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stored apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimmed in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Sonnet XXXVI: Life-In-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all,
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That lived but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanished hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stored apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimmed in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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She and Drugs
Freshly spawned,
Brain dumps
Bleeding grey:
Reflections of a mind
That wavers thin
Along the line
That savours pain -
A pond of skin
Devoid of breast -
The pad a feign:
The nothing
Underneath your bra
At best
Is your imagination
Spread across a narcoleptic world
Suchlike survival
In and out
Of haunted woods;
In and out -
You're in and out
As blood transfused -
Pumping on
To ooze at pace
Upon another haemorrhage
And there! a goblin
Here! a goblin
Care to entertain a goblin
In the lair
That is a mind
Of drugs? -
We know it's you -
It's you we know.
We know you're through.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
Life repeats itself as
life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life
life life life life life life life life
so draining life
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Sleep Here to arise some where!
Life is a dream
only a dream
Not full of cream
Only we scream,
In Joy or pain
All that is vain,
When we lose restrain
We take too much strain,
only to fall in pain!
Life is life all around,
No meaning ever found,
Only going round and round
From space to ground
Ground to space is another
round!
Life has several crew
anyone can any moment screw
Everyone is captain
Aim is to contain
By that restrain,
Love and life simply both teach and Train
Without any strain!
So many people sigh
And say
To hell with this world,
Look into their eyes,
They live in the hell
they are not well, For them nothing is well,
Only like that they tell,
Somewhere their feathered hat
of pride fell!
Life is a dream,
And a dream Only continued indefinitely,
It is dream in which
We feel the difference between
real and dream,
Reality is deep sleep,
And slept long before somewhere,
Arise here to sleep Someday,
Only to awaken in dream!
Death is that sleep,
From this house carries only to
give another house!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Happiness Everlasting (Rev.)
The little mermaid died, the
price for prolonged life was
taking the life of her Prince,
the love of her life, watching
him murmuring the name of his
bride, she flung the death-knife
overboard, jumped into the sea,
ready to die
became ethereal, musical and
transparent, gained an immortal
soul through good deeds, endured
suffering in life, courage saved
her from the dead salt sea, made
a sprite of the air – an immortal
soul within three-hundred years…
How long will it take me to work
through life and reincarnations,
to live as an immortal, to share
in happiness everlasting?
Can I endure my suffering
with enough courage?
Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid,
translated by Paul Leyssac, Reader’s Digest
1970
poem by Margaret Alice
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Make it life
Life is every where
It is in you now and forever it shall stay
Life is the wind blowing sideways
Life is the winter and the summer
I am Life You are Life We are Life
I love Life and Life loves me
Life and I play beneath the midnight sun
Life and I play beneath the morning moon
Life brings me soup when I am ill
Life kisses me good night and greets me with a smile
Life is sad and it is lonely
Life is evil and Life is blunt
Life is a true friend and never lies
I am Life You are Life We are Life
poem by Jasmine Shipp
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Life In Context
Life is every where
It is in you now and forever it shall stay
Life is the wind blowing sideways
Life is the winter and the summer
I am Life You are Life We are Life
I love Life and Life loves me
Life and I play beneath the midnight sun
Life and I play beneath the morning moon
Life brings me soup when I am ill
Life kisses me good night and greets me with a smile
Life is sad and it is lonely
Life is evil and Life is blunt
Life is a true friend and never lies
I am Life You are Life We are Life
poem by MatthewMartin Campbell
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The poem and her poet
Death once told poor life defeated by life:
Life's no life if lived on the edge of knife,
No more a struggle, nor is full of strife,
Do ye know how many deaths is Death rife?
Death's all death; the same is not true of life,
Life tries to knot her up snaps when death's knife,
But I've heard a man asking on death bed,
Pray, tell me Death, how long ere I'm all dead?
To him, said death, straightening up his head,
Moments might when look like minutes of dread,
Minutes stretch and stretch into hours, instead,
When hours take days, and days, years, you are dead.
Remember, life's lived moment to moment,
‘Tis measured too in a moving moment,
Forget not: Death alone is permanent,
I dwell in life from birth, live life dormant;
There's no freedom in life, nor should death call,
Death changes but the bricks of prison wall,
All quarrels ‘tween life and death, big and small,
Settled are, death when proves him far too tall.
Life is a small piece, but a paragraph
Of my poem, said Death, metre nor measure but in half,
Life may decide every new beginning,
But ‘tis me that knows the length, knows ending.
Eons pass sans measure for endless time,
While no clocks tick, nor dare their hours to chime,
Boulders of rocks break down whilst time stands still,
O grinding into grains of sands sans will.
While life is stuck with my poem's first rhyme,
Death challenged life to dare the worst she can,
I'm the Absolute trouser wearing man1,
I wonder how relative would tick time!
_____________________________________________ ___________
1. Death muses himself to be the male principle, the purusha.
The poem stands for life and prakriti. The piece here depicts
a dialogue between Life, or the matter, the poem and her
creator poet, the Death. In Indic philosophy, purusha is the
presiding deity, the atman or soul, which is eternal and body
is made of prakriti, the material nature, which is death-bound.
_____________________________________________ __________________
- Musings | 12.08.12 |
poem by Aniruddha Pathak
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The hidden Lion
make yourself smell like a perfume of passion, that never dies
and a wonderful moment that never fades, day to reckon
where everybody will remember, when our eternity await,
its final destiny
hidden lion keeps us, roaring in and out looking someone to be
devour living inside our soul, with every tears it fall, even
death it deceived, for the lion is very strong to push us in
the dungeon of the abyss of no return
the gift of life we share is the same life we give, let this be the
life that leads our offspring we entrusted the earth we left
with them, make the best, out what we inherited, the immortal
life, we bring is one that blooms the spring
life is just makes us fool, deceive what makes us fall, a lion in us
push us to feel that, the truth tell us the righteous way to the
kingdom we pray, is the final life we will stay
the freedom gain, of Adam and Eve pain is tainted with blood, that
makes us strong to face what brings us down, for the lion in
our heads hold the fortress, of the secret of the chamber of
our hearts, the Faith........
poem by Antonio Liao
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My Life
I can feel it in the darkness
Getting closer in the night
Like a sacred song
You linger on
You give me the wings of flight
And I love your sense of power
Every hour every need
When the red light shows
Your arms enclose
Like the pillars of destiny
With one step forward
I know I can leave this behind
Never look backward
I want to move through space, through time
I want to get to it
Seek and youll find
Check the world - do it its my life
Theres a star shines over you and i
Its my life
Im just keeping my soul alive
Theres talk of revolution
Theres no solution to our plight
A red guitar can get you
But you still know how to fight
They say all roads come together
Every shoulder to the wheel
Solid gold future unfolds
When you give me the hands that heal
Im looking out, and I call your name
I go running in a circle
But I cant get back again
And Im calling I need you here
My whole life took a tumble
And Im so filled up with fear
My life feels like a runaway train
Im leading through a tunnel and I cant get back again
Its my life
Keeping my soul alive
Written by : kerr/burchill reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Evil World
The evil world is like hell with human life,
So for almost every man beats his wife.
No place is worser than a life in a cell,
Except for eternity with demons in hell.
The evil world is filled with worthless life,
Yet life is sometimes worth living.
At night I lay in my bed
Wondering when is everyone dead.
Yet the evil world is like hell:
Evil conquers most human beings.
Without light or good the human race
Will seize to exist.
You must fulfill the life of man.
The evil world is like hell with human life.
poem by Tamika Taylor
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The Book of Urizen (excerpts)
Lo, a shadow of horror is risen
In Eternity! Unknown, unprolific,
Self-clos'd, all-repelling: what demon
Hath form'd this abominable void,
This soul-shudd'ring vacuum? Some said
'It is Urizen.' But unknown, abstracted,
Brooding, secret, the dark power hid.
Times on times he divided and measur'd
Space by space in his ninefold darkness,
Unseen, unknown; changes appear'd
Like desolate mountains, rifted furious
By the black winds of perturbation.
For he strove in battles dire,
In unseen conflictions with shapes
Bred from his forsaken wilderness
Of beast, bird, fish, serpent and element,
Combustion, blast, vapour and cloud.
Dark, revolving in silent activity:
Unseen in tormenting passions:
An activity unknown and horrible,
A self-contemplating shadow,
In enormous labours occupied.
But Eternals beheld his vast forests;
Age on ages he lay, clos'd, unknown,
Brooding shut in the deep; all avoid
The petrific, abominable chaos.
His cold horrors silent, dark Urizen
Prepar'd; his ten thousands of thunders,
Rang'd in gloom'd array, stretch out across
The dread world; and the rolling of wheels,
As of swelling seas, sound in his clouds,
In his hills of stor'd snows, in his mountains
Of hail and ice; voices of terror
Are heard, like thunders of autumn
When the cloud blazes over the harvests
poem by William Blake
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Lifestorm
It's raining hard.
The lightning flashes.
The Thunder Rolls.
Your life, it crashes.
The wind picks up.
Sky fades to black.
The air now cold.
No looking back.
Trudging forward.
Filled with fear.
The storm intensifies.
The end is near.
Lie down and stare.
Into the eyes of death.
Say your good-byes.
With your last breath.
A clearing emerges.
Sun peaking through.
Storm almost over.
Hope is renewed.
Silver lining.
Sky has cleared.
Things not as bad.
As they once appeared.
Life in the storm.
You cannot see.
The lessons to learn.
What is to be.
So embrace the storm.
And give God His praise.
For our hopeless hours.
Bring much better days.
The good make us thankful.
And so should the bad.
It's what makes us appreciate.
What we have and we've had.
Your storm's not forever.
And life may seem low.
A pot of gold waits.
After every rainbow.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Here Is To Life
Here is to life
A toast that I am doing
Here is to life
A beautiful baby that was born a while ago
Here is to life
Mother Nature because she is in control of the nature
Here is to life
My prayers
Here is to life
My love songs to the world
Here is to life all my hope
Here is to life
All my dreams
Here is to life all my sorrows
Here is to life
All my sadness and my grief
Here is to life
The fruit of my spirit
Here is to life
The body of Jesus Christ
Here is to life
The sunsets
Here is to life
The first sign of winter
poem by Aldo Kraas
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