To A Soldier In Hospital
Courage came to you with your boyhood's grace
Of ardent life and limb.
Each day new dangers steeled you to the test,
To ride, to climb, to swim.
Your hot blood taught you carelessness of death
With every breath.
So when you went to play another game
You could not but be brave:
An Empire's team, a rougher football field,
The end-perhaps your grave.
What matter? On the winning of a goal
You staked your soul.
Yes, you wore courage as you wore your youth
With carelessness and joy.
But in what Spartan school of discipline
Did you get patience, boy?
How did you learn to bear this long-drawn pain
And not complain?
Restless with throbbing hopes, with thwarted aims,
Impulsive as a colt,
How do you lie here month by weary month
Helpless, and not revolt?
What joy can these monotonous days afford
Here in a ward?
Yet you are merry as the birds in spring,
Or feign the gaiety,
Lest those who dress and tend your wound each day
Should guess the agony.
Lest they should suffer-this the only fear
You let draw near.
Greybeard philosophy has sought in books
And argument this truth,
That man is greater than his pain, but you
Have learnt it in your youth.
You know the wisdom taught by Calvary
At twenty-three.
Death would have found you brave, but braver still
You face each lagging day,
A merry Stoic, patient, chivalrous,
Divinely kind and gay.
You bear your knowledge lightly, graduate
Of unkind Fate.
Careless philosopher, the first to laugh,
The latest to complain.
Unmindful that you teach, you taught me this
In your long fight with pain:
Since God made man so good-here stands my creed-
God's good indeed.
poem by Winifred Mary Letts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Gunface
Gonna go downtown
Gonna get my gun
Gonna dress real sharp
Gonna beat my drum
I ain't gonna lie
Gonna walk so slow
Gonna talk just right
And my diamond ring
Gonna shine so bright
I ain't gonna lie
I've got a debt to repay
I ain't gonna cry
I put a gun in your face
You'll pay with your life
And I got my ears
And I got my eyes
And I got my narks
And my alibis
I won't waste your time
You made one false move
You made one mistake
When the juice is squeezed
That's the way it breaks
You'll pay for your crime
Your tongue lickin' way out of place
I'll rip it out
I'll stick a gun in your face
You'll pay with your life
I taught her everything I taught her how to dream
I taught her everything
I'm gonna teach her how to scream
I taught her all she knows
I taught her how to lie
I taught her everything
I'm gonna teach her how to cry
And you cause me hurt
And you cause me pain
And you turned the tap
On my burning rage
And I can't put it out
Gonna leave no sign
Gonna leave no trace
Gonna leave this town
In a state of grace
Give me the power
I got a debt to repay
I ain't gonna lie
I put a gun in your face
You'll pay for the crime
I taught her everything
I taught her how to speak
I taught her all she knows
I taught her how to eat
I half invented her
And now she acts so chic
I taught her everything
But now she's obselete
I taught her everything
How to read and write
I taught her all she knows
She was a neophyte
I taught her everything
I loved to watch her grow
I taught her everything
And now I want to see her go
I taught her everything
I got a debt to repay
I ain't gonna cry
I'll put a gun in your face
You're playing with your life
I taught her everything
I taught her how to cheat
I taught her all she knows
She was so indiscreet
I taught her everything
I taught her how to lie
I taught her everything
I'm gonna teach her how to cry
song performed by by Rolling Stones from Bridges To Babylon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nobody ever.....
In his youth, his callow empty youth
his eyes were misty.
He learnt about sex from Cindy,
but nobody ever, no, nobody ever,
taught him how to love.
In his youth, his callow empty youth
his pockets were full.
He drank, he smoked, he learned to use a gun
but they never, no, nobody ever
taught him how to have fun.
In his youth, his callow empty youth
his wits were sharp.
He learnt to duck and dive and to deceive
but they never, no, nobody ever
taught him what it is to really live.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Victor
And his death came in December,
When our summer was aglow—
Like a song that we remember,
Like a child’s dream long ago,
And it brought Australia to him,
Her sweetest singer dead,
While in silence friends who knew him
Bowed their heads beside his bed.
Angel Death comes softly stealing
When the watchers’ eyes are dim,
And, when all has failed in healing
Wounded heart or helpless limb—
With a whisper we may hear not
’Till with “Adsum” we respond,
And a vision we shall fear not
Of the Peaceful Land beyond.
While Australians in their blindness
Fail to realize their loss,
Place the wreath of loving kindness
And raise the simple cross.
For he taught us to be brothers
And he taught us to be brave—
And we’ll banish pride and envy
With a hand-clasp by his grave.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Solvitur acris Hiems
Youth, that went, is come again,
Youth, for which we all were fain;
With soft pleasure and sweet pain
In each nerve and every vein,
Circling through the heart and brain,
Whence and wherefore come again?
Eva, tell me!
Dead and buried when we thought him,
Who the magic spell hath taught him?
Who the strong elixir brought him?
Dead and buried as we thought,
Lo! unasked for and unsought
Comes he, shall it be for nought?
Eva, tell me!
Youth that lifeless long had lain,
Youth that long we longed in vain for,
Used to grumble and complain for,
Thought at last to entertain
A decorous cool disdain for,
On a sudden see again
Comes, but will not long remain,
Comes, with whom too in his train,
Comes, and shall it be in vain?
Eva, tell me!
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Worthy is The Lamb That Was Slain
Who was this Lamb that once was slain,
The Saviour that they scourged,
With vicious whips to inflict pain,
Then on the tree was cursed?
Who was this Man once hoisted high
At callous Calvary?
What was God's plan that He should die
For sinners just like me?
For all have sinned and gone astray,
Like lost lambs far and wide.
Except for Him, no sins to pay.
Yet for us crucified.
No easy death, no quick release,
No gently passing on.
No Halleluyahs borne of peace
Before His breath had gone.
No, this was courage at its height,
Enduring to the end.
Through faith from knowledge and insight,
Each second there to spend.
He didn't call an angel down!
He didn't fight God's will.
He was the King who wore His crown,
Each dropp of blood to spill.
To think that some despise Him now
And mock Him to this day,
Who wore His crown upon His brow
And for us chose to stay.
And only when He'd saved my soul
And yours and yours and yours,
Could He relinquish all control,
For God to bless His cause.
That's why God raised Him from the dead!
That's why God blessed His Name!
That's why Christ's Blood is called sacred!
Because He bore our shame.
Not for Himself did Jesus bleed,
Disgraced to suffer loss.
How worthy is this Lamb we need
Who died upon the Cross.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Power of Love
Love, indeed thy strength is mighty
Thus, alone, such strife to bear
Three 'gainst one, and never ceasing
Death, and Madness, and Despair!
'Tis not my own strength has saved me;
Health, and hope, and fortitude,
But for love, had long since failed me;
Heart and soul had sunk subdued.
Often, in my wild impatience,
I have lost my trust in Heaven,
And my soul has tossed and struggled,
Like a vessel tempest-driven;
But the voice of my beloved
In my ear has seemed to say
'O, be patient if thou lov'st me!'
And the storm has passed away.
When outworn with weary thinking,
Sight and thought were waxing dim,
And my mind began to wander,
And my brain began to swim,
Then those hands outstretched to save me
Seemed to call me back again
Those dark eyes did so implore me
To resume my reason's reign,
That I could not but remember
How her hopes were fixed on me,
And, with one determined effort,
Rose, and shook my spirit free.
When hope leaves my weary spirit
All the power to hold it gone
That loved voice so loudly prays me,
'For my sake, keep hoping on,'
That, at once my strength renewing,
Though Despair had crushed me down,
I can burst his bonds asunder,
And defy his deadliest frown.
When, from nights of restless tossing,
Days of gloom and pining care,
Pain and weakness, still increasing,
Seem to whisper 'Death is near,'
And I almost bid him welcome,
Knowing he would bring release,
Weary of this restless struggle
Longing to repose in peace,
Then a glance of fond reproval
Bids such selfish longings flee
And a voice of matchless music
Murmurs 'Cherish life for me!'
Roused to newborn strength and courage,
Pain and grief, I cast away,
Health and life, I keenly follow,
Mighty Death is held at bay.
Yes, my love, I will be patient!
Firm and bold my heart shall be:
Fear not -- though this life is dreary,
I can bear it well for thee.
Let our foes still rain upon me
Cruel wrongs and taunting scorn;
'Tis for thee their hate pursues me,
And for thee, it shall be borne!
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Courage
It was said that courage is the mastery of fear…
But not the total absence of it…
I was afraid to love,
I was afraid of pain.
I was afraid of big responsibilities,
I was afraid of having serious priorities…
I was totally afraid to fall for you.
But I need the guts; I need the courage because I do.
I need the courage to be brave,
To learn to face my life ahead…
The courage to learn to live with you…
And I know…
That the courage and the strength that I need would really comes from you!
-aira
poem by Aira Olayvar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bow Ramdas, Bow, Before Rainbow Of Truth!
Bow Ramdas bow,
Bow like a bow,
bow before Truth,
Bow before its rainbow,
Bow before the beauty of heart!
Bow Ramdas, bow
Bow before Truth,
Bow before wisdom's rainbow,
Bow before beauty of self!
Bow Ramdas bow,
Bow before nature,
May be temporal or devine,
Wherever Truth shine,
May in the eyes of a child,
Or rainbow in eyes of a lover,
Bow before all life,
Where eternal Truth shines!
Bow Ramdas, bow,
May be you are wise,
Or may be you fool,
That doesn't matter when you bow,
Bow before Truth!
Bow Ramdas, bow,
You are the truth,
Yet not an absolute,
you needn't bow before anyone,
If bow with patience to duties,
Bow now and then,
strong will be your Own neck and waist,
they can bear you head weight,
Or support Your head well!
Bow Ramdas, bow,
bow before mindful thoughts,
Mindfullness is carefullness,
Mindedness is not carelessness,
May be your carelessness,
Cause absent mindedness!
Bow Ramdas, bow,
Life is God's rainbow,
May be people standing in row,
Or may be a boatman, his boat and row,
May be river or lake,
May be sea or ocean,
May be cloudless sky,
In Sun or moon,
May be in stars and planets,
Bow before that truth,
You have The arrow,
that can strike,
But arrogance will strike you alone,
The pain or happiness,
given to others,
Come back some day to you,
And you alone
So learn to bow,
Bow Ramdas bow
Bow before that truth,
Shining in every heart!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dad Never Taught Me
Dad never taught me how to curse
And he never told us to gamble
He always warned cigarettes are worst
And never to waste food on the table.
Dad never taught us how to be idle
He was always a hardworking man at best
Taught us how to be responsible
And to face with Courage every test.
My Dad was not perfect but he taught well
I think that's the best he could leave
The lesson in life that really spell
How truly successful is a life well lived.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Taught To Fear And Suffer
Taught not born,
To hate.
Taught not born,
To fear.
Taught not born,
To discriminate.
And taught not born,
To jeer.
Taught not born,
To give.
Taught not born,
To take.
Taught not born to be of benefit to others.
But many bigots interfere...
With an infliction of their insecurities,
That smother one another.
Some are taught they are better than most human beings.
With a stunting of their own growth,
In isolated dreams.
And then their are those who confront others,
With obvious legitimate needs.
Ultimately to suffer from these misdeeds.
Taught not born,
To hate.
Taught not born,
To fear.
Taught not born,
To discriminate.
And taught not born,
To jeer.
Taught to greed selfishly!
Taught to deceive and steal like thieves!
And taught to cheat to succeed...
No matter who does the suffering and bleeds.
Taught to fear and suffer.
As a right,
To incite and ignite...
Fear.
As a right,
To incite and ignite...
Suffering,
Inflicted.
As a right to incite and ignite,
Fear!
Taught to fear and suffer.
As a right,
To incite and ignite...
Fear.
As a right,
To incite and ignite...
Suffering,
Inflicted.
As a right to incite and ignite,
Fear!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Time of Sickness
Lost Youth, come back again!
Laugh at weariness and pain.
Come not in dreams, but come in truth,
Lost Youth.
Sweetheart of long ago,
Why do you haunt me so?
Were you not glad to part,
Sweetheart?
Still Death, that draws so near,
Is it hope you bring, or fear?
Is it only ease of breath,
Still Death?
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mom
You held me in your arms for the first time,
Warm tears were rolling down on your white cheeks,
And for the first time, I felt the love's delight,
I understood that this is how love speaks.
Drops of happiness betrayed your infinite excitement,
Our two hearts as one then began to beat,
entering in a new stage of love's enlightenment,
Your smile was angelic, and your breath so sweet.
So many sick days you watched over me,
Whispering with love, “You’ll be fine!”
So many late nights spent on your knee,
You taught me love's reason to shine.
You were there with me when I took the first step,
You taught me when to move and when to stand still,
When to leave my worries on the doorstep,
You have inspired me with your power and your will.
You gave me comfort in pain and sorrow,
You were always by my side,
You taught me what's tomorrow,
You taught me how to read and how to write.
You walked with me on my first day of school,
The first book that we read together, it’s now long past,
You taught me that to be myself is cool,
To live each day as the first one or maybe as the last.
With love and tender, you corrected all of my mistakes,
I still remember how you told me; You are the best!
No matter how much hurts or what it takes,
You always have to live the truth and stand the test.
You taught me to say what I think and what I feel,
Without any fear, always watching the sky,
To dream but also to know what is real,
To be powerful when I'm down and modest when I'm up high.
You taught me to comfort others with my love,
And to spread the Light, all around me,
You told me that I am a child of God's above,
You taught me to believe in Eternity!
So many precious things you planted in my heart,
You gave me life and taught me how to live it too,
You're up in Heaven, but we'll never be apart,
Today, tomorrow, always Mother, I Love You.
poem by Marius Alexandru (28 February 2021)
Submitted by anonym
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The Parting Day
I.
SOME busy hands have brought to light,
And laid beneath my eye,
The dress I wore that afternoon
You came to say good-by.
About it still there seems to cling
Some fragrance unexpressed,
The ghostly odor of the rose
I wore upon my breast;
And, subtler than all flower-scent,
The sacred garment holds
The memory of that parting day
Close hidden in its folds.
The rose is dead, and you are gone,
But to the dress I wore
The rose's smell, the thought of you,
Are wed forevermore.
II.
That day you came to say good-by
(A month ago! It seems a year!)
How calm I was! I met your eye,
And in my own you saw no tear.
You heard me laugh and talk and jest,
And lightly grieve that you should go;
You saw the rose upon my breast,
But not the breaking heart below.
And when you came and took my hand,
It scarcely fluttered in your hold.
Alas, you did not understand!
For you were blind, and I was cold.
And now you cannot see my tears,
And now you cannot hear my cry.
A month ago? Nay, years and years
Have aged my heart since that good-by.
poem by Edith Wharton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Some Busy Hands…
I.
SOME busy hands have brought to light,
And laid beneath my eye,
The dress I wore that afternoon
You came to say good-by.
About it still there seems to cling
Some fragrance unexpressed,
The ghostly odor of the rose
I wore upon my breast;
And, subtler than all flower-scent,
The sacred garment holds
The memory of that parting day
Close hidden in its folds.
The rose is dead, and you are gone,
But to the dress I wore
The rose's smell, the thought of you,
Are wed forevermore.
II.
That day you came to say good-by
(A month ago! It seems a year!)
How calm I was! I met your eye,
And in my own you saw no tear.
You heard me laugh and talk and jest,
And lightly grieve that you should go;
You saw the rose upon my breast,
But not the breaking heart below.
And when you came and took my hand,
It scarcely fluttered in your hold.
Alas, you did not understand!
For you were blind, and I was cold.
And now you cannot see my tears,
And now you cannot hear my cry.
A month ago? Nay, years and years
Have aged my heart since that good-by.
poem by Edith Wharton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lazarus Heart
He looked beneath his shirt today
There was a wound in his flesh so deep and wide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
He turned around to face his mother
To show her the wound in his breast that burned like a brand
But the sword that cut him open
Was the sword in his mothers hand
Every day another miracle
Only death will tear us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
Though the sword was his protection
The wound itself would give him power
The power to remake himself at the time of his darkest hour
She said the wound would give him courage and pain
The kind of pain that you cant hide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
Birds on the roof of my mothers house
Ive no stones that chase them away
Birds on the roof of my mothers house
Will sit on my roof some day
They fly at the window, they fly at the door
Where does she get the strength to fight them anymore
She counts all her children as a shield against the pain
Lifts her eyes to the sky like a flower in the rain
Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At Tarragona
If I could know but when and why
This piece of thoughtless dust begins
To think, and straightway I am I,
And these bright hopes and these brave sins,
That have been freer than the air,
Circle their freedom with my span;
If I could know but why this care
Is mine and not the care or man;
Why, thus unwilling, I rejoice,
And will the good I do not do,
And with the same particular voice
Speak the old folly and the new;
If I could know, seeing my soul
A white ship with a bending sail,
Rudderless, and without a goal,
Fly seaward, humble to the gale,
Why, knowing not from whence I came,
Nor why I seek I know not what,
I bear this heavy, separate name,
While winds and waters bear it not;
And why the unlimited earth delights
In life, not knowing breath from breath,
While I, that count my days and nights,
Fear thought in life, and life in death.
poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Trunks Of Pain
Under different masks their faces are hidden
With different colors their faces are drawn
As my dearest ones they're known
Ah dearest ones still my heart with your love is drawn
While I forgive
While I forget
I deny to see the facts
Though I know colored are their faces
Yet they are as precious as my pride
Those who were like my breathe
Took away my heart beat
They were most savage
Most unfair
They made me learn what's the meaning of the pain
How it hurts
How long it lasts
Sometimes never ends
Even when the wounds are healed
The pain overcomes again and again
The memory of pain
Always hurts the same
With the changing of the seasons memories come my way
They gave me trunks of pain
And told me hold on to your pain
That's your destiny
You don't have the right to suffer of your pain
You don't have the right to complain
Hold on to your pain.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dad
How I wish I could go back
I wish I could tell you I love you
I am so proud of your purple hearts
You were wounded in world war two
You worked hard for your family
I never heard you really complain
You were grateful for all you had
You always tried to show us the way
I remember how you loved to laugh
How you cried when Grandma died
You played Santa Claus every year
You had friends and were well liked
We always went on a long vacation
You taught us to respect and love
To work hard and not be lazy
You taught us to believe in God above
I was twenty-four when we last hugged
They played the taps on that lonely day
Mom and Jim were both still alive
A twenty-one-gun salute by your grave
The love used here is what really counts
Mom and Jim are now home with you
My faith in the Lord is what sustains me
My tears flow but there is more I must do
Your battlefields have long ended
Your heart was good, deep and true
I will always try to honor your name
Dad I want you to know I love you
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Laugh…….
We laugh today; we'll laugh tomorrow
Over today's joy and yesterday's sorrow
Nothing is permanent, nothing is forever
So we laugh to forget and with sorrow sever
From our happiness' mirth to laugh in play
So merry is the soul who laughs away
The pain life brings, the pain of being
Laughing till joy from pain is fleeing
To where? Our panacea of hearty laugh
I guess it's better than pain's angry wrath
Laugh…….
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Need Fear For Survival
Of valour on the battlefield and in other ways we hear
But only the most foolhardy one would never know of fear
We need fear for survival may they rest in peace the brave
Their reward for their bravery the cold and darkness of the grave.
We need fear for survival the very brave are dead
And little use to them 'twould seem if good things of them are said
We need a bit of fear in us in order to stay alive
Few of the brave to a ripe old age have been known to survive.
I'd rather live to a ripe old age than have died young and brave
We need a bit of fear in us for to keep cheating the grave
Why would you even wish to die though your better days are long gone
Our will to live is always strong and it keeps us keeping on.
The fear of death is a healthy fear the brave seem to die young
Though of no use to the deceased if their praises are sung
In their graves they do never hear the bugler for them play
They lay in peace forever more that's life as some might say.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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