Bitter Journey
Tired, the weary traveller trudges on
just a little further now
a whole life time's wayward journey
t'ward a fitful night's sleep.
Daydreams the distance away
each hour is the same
as weary limbs press on
destination closes in.
Remember the time when spirit ledger balanced
and food was the fantasy of forgotten dreams
now only the road
a wound that never heals.
Outwardly vivid colours appear as a procession
a lifetime of the birth/dream/death/dream/birth cycle
the waking hours doze and drift
every one is time closer to eternity.
poem by Shaun McGurgan
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Related quotes
The tired mind
The tired mind
~
The tired mind bemoans a weary traveller
Far too old in the day as night time falls
Dust laden boots kicked to the dirt
An aching body laid down to sleep
While memories continue to stir
Unavoidable to a weathered thought
The onset of a life’s adventures
The romances won and lost
The unknown of what is still to come
A day hence shall be revealed
For now fear and anticipation linger
A tired mind plays on trivial questions
Labouring to forget and to sleep
Heavy set eyes look out into nothing
Into the night the ending of the day
Old and late the hour has come
For a weary traveller to say goodnight
And for a tired mind to be done
poem by Matthew Holloway
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God speaks in dream
salvation started with a dream, life we take, is but a life we had lived before, and to remember is mint to forget, only by closing our eyes then we will remembered that life we live is just a journey to remember the past
dream of a dreams, a passion of the soul, echo in the wilderness of eternity of memories, that lives in the havoc of time, where our hearts linger to listen
salvation is tasted, before it started, we have been there, until it lasted in birth we are created, a creation that molded and folded our journey to a new dream, where we have to begin, a life that is new, the salvation that made it true
God's wisdom speaks in dream, leads us the perfect path to be back in the right track, for in God's kingdom, everybody is welcome, to live with others in harmony with God, where everybody is happy and free
live it now, dream with other dreams, believe that you can be, in a dream salvation is free.....God speaks in dream
poem by Antonio Liao
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Dreams
Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
'Twere better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
But should it be- that dream eternally
Continuing- as dreams have been to me
In my young boyhood- should it thus be given,
'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright
I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light
And loveliness,- have left my very heart
In climes of my imagining, apart
From mine own home, with beings that have been
Of mine own thought- what more could I have seen?
'Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour
From my remembrance shall not pass- some power
Or spell had bound me- 'twas the chilly wind
Came o'er me in the night, and left behind
Its image on my spirit- or the moon
Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
Too coldly- or the stars- howe'er it was
That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.
I have been happy, tho' in a dream.
I have been happy- and I love the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality, which brings
To the delirious eye, more lovely things
Of Paradise and Love- and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Night
Night is the time for rest;
How sweet, when labors close,
To gather round an aching breast
The curtain of repose,
Stretch the tired limbs, and lay the head
Down on our own delightful bed!
Night is the time for dreams;
The gay romance of life,
When truth that is, and truth that seems,
Blend in fantastic strife;
Ah! visions, less beguiling far
Than waking dreams by daylight are!
Night is the time for toil;
To plough the classic field,
Intent to find the buried spoil
Its wealthy furrows yield;
Till all is ours that sages taught,
That poets sang, or heroes wrought.
Night is the time to weep;
To wet with unseen tears
Those graves of Memory, where sleep
The joys of other years;
Hopes, that were Angels at their birth,
But perished young, like things of earth.
Night is the time to watch;
O'er ocean's dark expanse,
To hail the Pleiades, or catch
The full moon's earliest glance,
That brings into the homesick mind
All we have loved and left behind.
Night is the time for care;
Brooding on hours misspent,
To see the spectre of Despair
Come to our lonely tent;
Like Brutus, 'midst his slumbering host,
Summoned to die by Caesar's ghost.
Night is the time to think;
When, from the eye, the soul
Takes flight; and, on the utmost brink,
Of yonder starry pole
Descries beyond the abyss of night
The dawn of uncreated light.
Night is the time to pray;
Our Saviour oft withdrew
To desert mountains far away;
So will his followers do, -
Steal from the throng to haunts untrod,
And hold communion there with God.
Night is the time for Death;
When all around is peace,
Calmly to yield the weary breath,
From sin and suffering cease,
Think of heaven's bliss, and give the sign
To parting friends; - such death be mine!
poem by James Montgomery
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When The Sleepy Man Comes
When the Sleepy Man comes with the dust on his eyes,
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
He shuts up the earth, and he opens the skies.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
He smiles through his fingers, and shuts up the sun;
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
The stars that he loves he lets out one by one.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
He comes from the castles of Drowsy-boy Town;
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
At the touch of his hand the tired eyelids fall down.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
He comes with a murmur of dream in his wings;
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
And whispers of mermaids and wonderful things.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
Then the top is a burden, the bugle a bane;
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
When one would be faring down Dream-a-way Lane.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
When one would be wending in Lullaby Wherry,
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
To Sleepy Man's Castle, by Comforting Ferry.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
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Dancing Dream
If you are weary-
If you are weak-
Sleep, sleep, sleep, my darling child, sleep.
If you are lonesome-
If you are sad-
Dream, dream, dream, my darling child, dream.
Dream of waters, unending like a mother's love.
Dream of a sky, colored like a painter's canvas.
Dream of green grass, reaching up to touch you.
Dream of a great oak, standing tall above you.
Dream of a waterfall, its call echoing all around.
Dream of a breeze, whispering in your ear.
Dream of a star, shining brighter than any other.
Dream of a friend, sticking closer than any brother.
Dream of a love, burning brighter than a sun.
Dream of a trust, holding harder than a rock.
Dream a dancing dream, a dancing dream, a dancing dream.
Dream a dancing dream, my darling child.
Sleep and dream.
A dancing dream.
poem by Stephen Carey
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Fantasize
We fantasize in our daydreams
the way we want things to be
wishing all the time
our fantasy will come true.
We find so much comfort
in our fantasy dream word
than we do in our reality
that we hope that one day
we can step out of this world
and step into that.
Saying to ourselves that it would be better
than the world we have,
but just suppose we did that.
Are we sure, it is what we really want?
No one will ever know,
as it is just our fantasy.
The one we fantasize about
when things get us down.
In our daydreams from time to time.
29 August 2011
poem by David Harris
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Wayward Dreams
Last night a dream cast a shadow
Over my all too empty bed,
That an angel had lost her way
A wayward woman wanderin'.
Troubled, bewildered, and forlorn,
Dark, confused, weary she appeared
Over many a mumbled word,
Soundin' heart-broke, I heard her say:
‘Oh my wayward dreams! do they cry,
Do they hear their lover sighin'?
Do they not see what we have lost,
Will they not stop and weep for me? '
Her tears fell as I came closer:
I took her hand and drew her near,
And said, ‘Wail not into the night
For your plight and mine are the same.
‘That which was once held can be found,
That which was once found can be ours:
Follow me, we will find the way;
Back to our wayward dreams and home! '
poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro
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A Song
Oh night and sleep,
Ye are so soft and deep,
I am so weary, come ye soon to me.
Oh hours that creep,
With so much time to weep,
I am so tired, can ye no swifter be?
Come, night, anear;
I'll whisper in thine ear
What makes me so unhappy, full of care;
Dear night, I die
For love that all men buy
With tears, and know not it is dark despair.
Dear night, I pray,
How is it that men say
That love is sweet? It is not sweet to me.
For one boy's sake
A poor girl's heart must break;
So sweet, so true, and yet it could not be!
Oh, I loved well,
Such love as none can tell:
It was so true, it could not make him know:
For he was blind,
All light and all unkind:
Oh, had he known, would he have hurt me so?
Oh night and sleep,
Ye are so soft and deep,
I am so weary, come ye soon to me.
Oh hours that creep,
With so much time to weep,
I am so tired, can ye no swifter be?
poem by Archibald Lampman
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You Are My Dream
You are my dream!
I know dreams often
Turn into agony;
The warmth of smouldering desires
Adds colours to passions;
And thirst of pulsating moments,
Just for a few seconds
Sips dew from the rose-beds,
And fragrance surrounds the trees,
For a time being, fleetingly.
I am aware of...
Sand does not possess
Foot-prints of a traveller
For a long time,
Yet dreams are a comfort,
For a moment or two, I know it
But you are my dream.
You are my dream!
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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To Sleep Soundly Upon A Late Night
there is a promise of enjoyment
about utility
measured in just a few moments
you have to pay for the intimate hours
and then be silent
no images, nothing about love
nothing about memories to share
and remember
we want it to be brief and
explosive
but we never desire that it should
stick to our skins and bones
another fantasy
another longing for something that folds and
unfolds
for something that opens and then closes
without attachment
i could have grabbed that moment with you
but light is too much
and i am not blinded
i let it go and i am weary
so weary when i arrive again in my room
finding nothing but myself
with its dignity intact
i can sleep soundly now though it is late already
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dead Christ
Take the dead Christ to my chamber,
The Christ I brought from Rome;
Over all the tossing ocean,
He has reached his western home;
Bear him as in procession,
And lay him solemnly
Where, through weary night and morning,
He shall bear me company.
The name I bear is other
Than that I bore by birth,
And I've given life to children
Who'll grow and dwell on earth;
But the time comes swiftly towards me
(Nor do I bid it stay),
When the dead Christ will be more to me
Than all I hold to-day.
Lay the dead Christ beside me,
Oh, press him on my heart,
I would hold him long and painfully
Till the weary tears should start;
Till the divine contagion
Heal me of self and sin,
And the cold weight press wholly down
The pulse that chokes within.
Reproof and frost, they fret me,
Towards the free, the sunny lands,
From the chaos of existence
I stretch these feeble hands;
And, penitential, kneeling,
Pray God would not be wroth,
Who gave not the strength of feeling,
And strength of labor both.
Thou'rt but a wooden carving,
Defaced of worms, and old;
Yet more to me thou couldst not be
Wert thou all wrapt in gold,
Like the gem-bedizened baby
Which, at the Twelth-day noon,
They show from the Ara Coeli's steps,
To a merry dancing tune.
I ask of thee no wonders,
No changing white or red;
I dream not thou art living,
I love and prize thee dead.
That salutary deadness
I seek, through want and pain,
From which God's own high power can bid
Our virtue rise again.
poem by Julia Ward Howe
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Kiss The Wind
Once upon a time, a time, a time, a time, a time, a time
I lived here
Once upon a time, a time, a time, a time, a time, a time
I lived here
I lay my head on a pillow of sky
And I kiss the wind
And heard it sigh
Once upon a time
I lived here
In the fever of a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream
I loved here
In the fever of a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream
I loved here
Fell, heart and body
Soul and mind
I left all over worlds
Behind
In the fever of a dream
I loved here
The hour has come, its come, its come, its come, its come, its come, its come, its come
To leave here
The hour has come, its come, its come, its come, its come, its come, its come, its come
To leave here
Ill take whatever
Is mine to take
Free my heart before
It breaks
The hour has come
To leave here
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kiss The Wind
Once upon a time, a time, a time, a time, a time, a time
I lived here
Once upon a time, a time, a time, a time, a time, a time
I lived here
I lay my head on a pillow of sky
And I kiss the wind
And heard it sigh
Once upon a time
I lived here
In the fever of a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream
I loved here
In the fever of a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream, a dream
I loved here
Fell, heart and body
Soul and mind
I left all over worlds
Behind
In the fever of a dream
I loved here
The hour has come, its come, its come, its come, its come, its come, its come, its come
To leave here
The hour has come, its come, its come, its come, its come, its come, its come, its come
To leave here
Ill take whatever
Is mine to take
Free my heart before
It breaks
The hour has come
To leave here
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dream On
Dream on baby, dream on
They might never seem to come true,
But dream on, baby, dream on.
Cause you never know when one will find you.
Dream on baby, dream on.
Though the critics and sceptics cry,
Dream on you will, baby, dream on.
Cause one day you'll be waving them goodbye.
Dream on baby, dream on,
There's a reason that we have dreams.
Dream on baby, dream on.
You'll catch some dreams, though far away they seem.
Dream on, baby, dream on.
No, you probably won't get every one,
But isn't that what dreams are for?
Dreams, they propel us to leap out and have fun.
Dreams, where we run to who-knows-where,
Where we do things we can only imagine.
Dreams, where we find solace in times of despair:
Where ordinary men become legends.
Dreams breath life into our bodies,
Give us purpose in our life, carry us on,
Carry us on through the toughest time,
When all glimmer of hope is gone.
So shut your door, tuck yourself in,
Turn out the lights, and dream away.
Life's tough, now's time to escape awhile.
Time to dream about a happier day.
Dream on, baby, dream on.
Dreams come true,
So dream on.
One day, they'll find you.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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My Lullaby (Song)
Close your eyes
Go to sleep.
Find your soul
In arms I'll keep
Dream you Little dark Dream
In your eyes
There's a glow
See your dreams
Now you know
Dream you Little dark Dreams
See your dreams
Come alive
Watch them dance
Through your eyes
Dream you Little dark Dreams
Coming now into eternal
Slumber, Sleep your Life's infernal
Lies called dreams within our sorrow
Never waking for tomorrow
Bow your head
Lay on down
Wipe your tears
Do not frown
Dream Dream Dream Dream Dream Dream
Dream you Little dark Dreams
Tonight.
poem by Sans Serif
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Love Sonnet 143 Have You Contrived, To Deprive Me Of Sleep
Have you contrived, to deprive me of sleep,
By way of smiles, and acts of sweet accord,
Making me toss in bed, for meanings, deep,
Sowing between my heart and mind, discord?
Have you, your ways conspired to scare my wits,
That when sleepless, I sleep to dream all day,
And in the night, daydreams, my soul commits,
Think, I'll fret, which I might, or that I may:
What's in your song, that got me so inspired,
Or, was it me, easily swayed by songs,
Which blinded me to what really transpired,
That now, my time to fantasy belongs?
........Meantime, I dream reality with you,
........And reality of dreams, coming true.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Death, To The Dead For Evermore
DEATH, to the dead for evermore
A King, a God, the last, the best of friends -
Whene'er this mortal journey ends
Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door;
Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore
Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn
Disturbs the eternal sleep,
But in the stillness far withdrawn
Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep.
For as from open windows forth we peep
Upon the night-time star beset
And with dews for ever wet;
So from this garish life the spirit peers;
And lo! as a sleeping city death outspread,
Where breathe the sleepers evenly; and lo!
After the loud wars, triumphs, trumpets, tears
And clamour of man's passion, Death appears,
And we must rise and go.
Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the ears
Weary of utterance, seeing all is said;
Soon, racked by hopes and fears,
The all-pondering, all-contriving head,
Weary with all things, wearies of the years;
And our sad spirits turn toward the dead;
And the tired child, the body, longs for bed.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Death and Birth
Death leads to birth rather than birth, to death.
Birth is close to death and not vice versa.
Every birth is at the result of a death.
Death to birth, not birth to death, is the path.
The death of clay is the birth of a pot;
The death of the pot is the birth of clay.
Ice melts to water and water forms ice.
In each conversion, occur death and birth.
The death of a night is the birth of a day;
The death of a day is the birth of a night.
New Year means the death of the old year too.
In each transition, takes place death and birth.
The death of a seed is the birth of a plant;
The death of gametes is the birth of an embryo.
Salts die to form cells; cells die to form salts.
In each growth, form death and birth of matter.
The so called death and birth is nothing but
Deaths and births of forms made of matter.
The matter itself does not die to be born
But is converted to different forms.
Elements disappear to form plants.
Plants as food add to the animals’ flesh.
Plants and animals on death liberate
As elements, serving through worms and germs.
When a child is born, there’s no birth of life.
The embryo transforms into a child.
When a man dies, there is no death of life.
The body disintegrates to salts.
Matter, energy and life have no death
They have got one birth since when they’ve been.
They interact and come different stages
In which the pattern is death and birth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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No Rest for the Weary
No Rest for the Weary
By: Adam M. Snow
There's no rest for the weary;
all those times we were dreary;
and agony suffers evermore.
We are swallowed by time;
wanting to die;
all from tormented prime;
and the tears we've shed evermore.
We are weak, bounded by fate;
surrounded by, no love but hate.
There's no dream for the weary;
and all around the night grew eerie.
The sun falls in an endless abyss;
followed by all hope and bliss.
With nightmare following by;
we cannot help but to cry.
As Poe's raven cries nevermore;
we become more like a withered rose;
growing out of an open door.
There's no end for the weary;
as we see death even clearly.
We raise the gauntlet of raw;
to our suffering and flaw;
followed by our agony and tide;
to those who's trying to hide.
There's no rest for the weary;
as we ponder all that is leery.
We've been swallowed by lies;
in this time of demise;
being left dead but alive;
in this abode for peace;
nevermore will it cease;
in the minds of all;
as we continue to fall.
There's no hope for the weary;
with eyes so teary;
as we weep what we sow;
with our fears we bestow.
Now taint is our soul;
as we lie, buried in this hole.
With hearts full of dread;
we try to be one with the dead;
only to suffer more.
Now with uncaring eyes;
tormented and scorn;
we despise our demise;
and brake free evermore.
There's no time for the weary;
and those who are deary;
only to be tormented by glee.
We're not broken yet we cannot see;
our life beyond this narrow pass;
trapped behind the looking glass.
The mourners gathered to your delight;
to welcome your tormented night;
and by the moon the reaper weary;
as we lay to rest this time so dreary.
Go on now my wayward son;
and be free from all we've done.
Cut all your strings;
spread your new found wings;
and soar into the sky anew.
You're no longer weary;
no longer dreary;
now that you are free.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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