Unhappy is the man
Unhappy is the man
Having no mental ease
Who suffers from self-conflict
And kleptomaniac disease
No self-contentment
Even seven continents are given
How can this man be happy
Being a soaring raven?
Who believes not himself
Nor faithful to fellow feather
Who is Mr. Jackal and Hide
With false grieving weather
Millionaire in material
Mendicant in heart
No soap is invented yet
To wash away his dirt
Remnant of a burned palace
Nothing but ashes
Remnant of a decaying soul
Repents and remorses
poem by Md.abdul Mannan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
London Stone
WHEN you come to London Town,
(Grieving-grieving!)
Bring your flowers and lay them down
At the place of grieving.
When you come to London Town,
(Grieving-grieving!)
Bow your head and mourn your own,
With the others grieving.
For those minutes, let it wake
(Grieving-grieving!)
All the empty-heart and ache
That is not cured by grieving.
For those minutes, tell no lie:
(Grieving-grieving!)
'Grave, this is thy victory;
And the sting of death is grieving.'
Where's our help, from earth or heaven,
(Grieving-grieving!)
To comfort us for what we've given,
And only gained the grieving.
Heaven's too far and earth too near,
(Grieving-grieving!)
But our neighbour's standing here,
Grieving as we're grieving.
What's his burden every day?
(Grieving-grieving!)
Nothing man can count or weigh,
But loss and love's own grieving.
What is the tie betwixt us two
(Grieving-grieving!)
That must last our whole lives through?
'As I suffer, so do you.'
That may ease the grieving.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In any given society the Remnant are always so largely an unknown quantity. You do not know, and will never know, more than two things about them. You can be sure of those — dead sure, as our phrase is — but you will never be able to make even a respectable guess at anything else. You do not know, and will never know, who the Remnant are, nor what they are doing or will do. Two things you do know, and no more: First, that they exist; second, that they will find you. Except for these two certainties, working for the Remnant means working in impenetrable darkness; and this, I should say, is just the condition calculated most effectively to pique the interest of any prophet who is properly gifted with the imagination, insight and intellectual curiosity necessary to a successful pursuit of his trade.
quote by Albert Jay Nock
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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God’s Final Remnant
Judgment will start in God’s Church, among all men who weekly perch,
Upon the pews looking their best, for some, only how they’re dressed.
In God’s Judgment, sound and sure, all false believers will not endure,
Those who have knowingly denied, to make heart change deep inside.
God will sift the Soldiers of Christ, from all who have no changed life,
Judging those, who do not belong, to His True Blood Bought Throng.
Just like the sheep and the goats, judging him, who spiritually gloats,
Through exalting them self, in pride, above those, who in Christ abide.
Some with a pure and contrite heart, serving God and doing their part,
Are at times hurt by others within, Christ’s Body when they tolerate sin,
And some, may not even belong, ignoring what we deem to be wrong,
Causing much hurt and undue strife, to members who truly love Christ.
How long will God’s Spirit contend, with all those who merely pretend,
That they belong to Christ’s Church, even without a true spiritual birth?
Bringing a Body that bears His name, time and again, hurt and shame,
Unconverted souls women and men, in the Church but not Born Again.
A remnant, God had used before, and a remnant, He’ll use once more,
This, at the end of this present age, before Christ turns that final page,
God will end with a remnant of those, who truly follow Christ who rose,
A final remnant, who truly believed, in the One, who they truly received.
(Copyright ©09/2009)
Keep It Clean
Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.
Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.
So hard they've tried to reflect perfection.
A wholesome outlook,
With good deeds done they do!
They want to project a godlike self righteousness.
With wings adorned and hymns sung!
Angelic voices from everyone,
Harmonizing,
In collective united bliss.
But the truth about this...
There is BS that sits within their midst,
And not one of them can resist
An addicting sniff!
Since they are all full of it!
Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.
Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.
Something kept stinking...
From fat greasy meat.
Suited and smoking cigars,
Chartering planes with high profiled stars.
And posing with those who piloted...
The sucking up of all resources.
As admirers rejoiced!
Thinking they heard 'voices' from beyond...
'You too could live like this!
We'll make sure of it! '
Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.
Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.
Screwing fools!
'Keep it clean! '
That's what they do best!
'Keep the scene serene.
Deodorize the stench that leaks.
Protect that image.
And hide the blood left...
To leave as expected on urban streets! '
Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.
Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.
By the time it surfaces...
There will be nothing left to squander.
And the fools we duped with treason,
Will have nothing left to value...
And very little to say!
Keep it clean.
Every crack your packing.
Soap it up and down.
Rinse that dirt away.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remember Raven
Aah! ooh!
Aah! ooh!
While youre busy trying to conjure dirt upon me,
Your ponys sucked dry by an african bee.
The muck you rake is not enough to keep your turd at sea,
Remember the raven,
Remember the raven.
While your busy trying to weigh your power,
Your boats getting into fast water.
Lifes going down the river of no return,
Remember raven,
Remember raven.
Dont try to be a warden to history,
While trying to find a seat for your posterity.
You better tend your garden for your family.
Remember raven,
Remember raven.
Judas never got the key to heaven, you know.
Raven, raven, remember raven,
Remember raven.
Raven, raven, remember raven,
Remember raven.
Raven, raven, raven.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Final Knowledge....
the closest to your heart
was burned, literally, the body into
ashes
from ashes to ashes you screamed against the heavens
and the heavens answered that
it could have been you
but you were spared so that your eyes can see and your ears can hear,
it will only be for a time that
you question all these and find the roots
and perhaps uproot that
tree that caused the madness of revenge
now, look at you
after burying the signals of the times
you are back
in the race of rats
the dogs howl again
and in the darkness you fly again
when the moon is full
another one suffers
from the harshness of your hands
you have forgotten
how is it to be more powerful
in patience
in the tenderness of the human heart
sooner shall the leaves of live bury you
and then perhaps you shall finally know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At Least, Everybody's Happy
I want you to be happy
Because if you happy
I will be happy too
I want you to feel happy
Because if you happy
I will feel peaceful
I want your happiness
Because if you happy
I won't need anything else
I want to see you happy
Because if you happy
I will not be forced to see you grieving
I want you to know happiness
Because if you happy
I will not disturb only by your sorrow
I want to hear that you're happy
Because if you happy
I should not listen to your unhappy story
I want you to find happiness
Because if you happy
I will not be chased by constant nightmare
I want you have a touch of happiness
Because if you happy
I could rip your ugly sad face with smile
I want to give you happiness
Because if you happy
I could take you from the darkness
I want you to taste happiness
Because if you happy
I must not swallow the bitterness
I want you realize that you have a right to be happy
Because if you happy
I won't be drowned in regret because ignorance
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Faithful
Faithful to the end
She's a lover and a friend
Faithful to the end
And with this i know you can win, just stay faithful
Faithful till the end
Faithful to the end
Listen ya'll she's a mother and a wife, she is everything, faithful
Faithful to the end
Even when things go wrong and you got nobody else to call
You call on good ol' faithful
Faithful to the end
Cause i know you gotta stay faithful
Faithful to the end
She's the one that will cook and clean, wash your clothes
So you always gotta stay faithful
Faithful to the end
Ya'll just take it on home, i can't even sing no more
Faithful to the end
Yeah, i like that
song performed by by Faith Evans
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cling
Why do I
Cling
To sorrow
When I am in fact
Confronted by joy?
Is it because
Sorrow is
The last remnant I have
Of him?
Of our love?
That to completely be happy,
Is to completely forget?
My heart refuses
To let go
This soon
And would rather
In sadness
Dwell.
poem by Miriam Carreon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Living Off Of Memories
I am living off of memories--
Just wasting my time....
The hours pass into days...
And there is no reason nor rhyme;
Blue skies have gone missing-
Replaced by dark grey--
The Sun has taken its leave---
And the night has replaced day;
Springtime no longer exists-
All the blossoms are withered and dry--
Summer times brillance...
For me has just died;
I am living of of memories--
Just wasting my time...
The hours pass into days
There is no reason nor rhyme;
All that is left is a remnant...
Of days spent with you...
The fabrric of yesterdays love...
Now distant from view;
It is far off and laying atop-
Our love making bed...
Just a remnant-a remnant...
Of loving words once said;
I am living off of memories--
Just wasting my time...
The hours pass into days--
There is no reason nor rhyme;
I'm caught in the between...
Of yesterdays time...
Back in that sweet day---
When you were once mine;
Song Lyrics
May23,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hogtied
Separate your heart from your soul, can you?
Liberate your mind from your form, would you?
Would you like to be thrown to the wind, ashes to ashes?
Or buried with the worms, dirt to dirt?
Perhaps burnt upon the stake, hogtied in agony, bound
or set out upon emotion, to drowned beneath the waves.
You know your love it's your saving grace, locate it if you can
is it the left half of my chest, does it lie within the palm of my hand?
Its mine to give, my life to live, my choice to forgive, to forget
would you let it slide?
Could you?
Should I?
poem by David Lacey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Save Me - (by LionTamer)
Families destroyed, screams of pain.
visions from hell, keep me insane.
eyelids stitched open, I lay awake
What have we done for heavens sake.
Satan knows my name for sure.
Sins to pay, on the list to burn I am.
committed against the soul,
committed against man.
Baby doll heads, wooden toys
Smoldering with ashes
Remnants of innocence amongst human waste.
Remnants of evil of men with no taste.
Amongst these monsters I hide my mind.
I hide the feelings that bind human kind.
In a caged existence so I am
Surrounded by monsters
that feed on innocence
to fuel their ignorance.
In a feeding upon my fellow man.
Someone save me. Save my soul.
Wash my hands clean
and make me whole.
Someone please save me.
poem by Lion Tamer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Conclusion of a Letter to a Friend
Sent from Italy, 1741
But happy you from the contagion free,
Who, through her veil, can human nature see;
Calm you reflect, amid the frantic scene,
On the low views of those mistaken men,
Who lose the short invaluable hour,
Through dirt-pursuing schemes of distant pow'r:
Whose best enjoyments never pay the chase,
But melt like snow within a warm embrace.
Believe me, friend, for such indeed are you,
Dear to my heart, and to my int'rest true;
Too much already have you thrown away,
Too long sustain'd the labor of the day;
Enjoy the remnant of declining light,
Nor wait for rest till overwhelm'd in night.
By present pleasure balance pain you've past,
Forget all systems, and indulge your taste.
poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Flower-Piece By Fantin
Heart's ease or pansy, pleasure or thought,
Which would the picture give us of these?
Surely the heart that conceived it sought
Heart's ease.
Surely by glad and divine degrees
The heart impelling the hand that wrought
Wrought comfort here for a soul's disease.
Deep flowers, with lustre and darkness fraught,
From glass that gleams as the chill still seas
Lean and lend for a heart distraught
Heart's ease.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I think the biggest disease the world suffers from in this day and age is the disease of people feeling unloved. I know that I can give love for a minute, for half an hour, for a day, for a month, but I can give. I am very happy to do that, I want to do that.
quote by Lady Diana
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Brimstone... ' (or A Cryptic-Cremation)
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
Flesh and Blood
Wood and Mud
Sun and Moon
Craters and Crust
Flames to Ashes
Smoke to Dust
Ape and Man
Heart and Brain
Glass and Sand
Abel and Cain
Spend this Space
On this Earth
Cutting Down
Another’s Worth
So Much Hate
On World and Planet
Trying to Paint
And Stain Pearls and Granite
‘Til, Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
Stop Thinking, ’ Iron Them ’
Start Thinking, ‘ Wash Us ’
Fire On Mountain
Flows Volcanic Ash
Fire and Sand
Equals House of Glass
Dirt On Fire
Smother ‘Fore Long
And Fire and Rock
Equals Brimstone
poem by MoonBee Canady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If I Had A Million In Money
Though money will not save you from the reaper and your mental depression won't cure
I'd rather be wealthy and unhappy than to be unhappy and poor
For how can some one poor be truly happy and it does not make much sense to me
When some says he is happy go lucky though he is living in poverty?
If I had a million in money I could help out a needy few
For if you are a poor ordinary battler not much to help out can you do
I know what it feels like without money one might say tell us something new
And that money can speak any language as ever happens to be true.
You may be a well meaning person a kind soul with a heart of gold
But lack of money is your major drawback the same old story as of old
And without money you cannot do much for others though you can help them in some other way
Like doing work for some needy person without asking for any pay.
If I had a million in money I could help a few friends in need
And others would say he is generous and by good example he lead
But I am as poor as a church mouse and I've never been financially secure
And like everyone lacking in money I cannot do much for the poor.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Smell Like
you smell like....
your skin, your hair,
your gentle touch;
your eyes that have loved,
and lost many a battle.
your fierce heart wrapped
around your children, your dogs.
your sadness weeping
with every step you take.
your ashes remembering fire,
your fire that burned down,
sweeping away all that was,
and dared to be...
your dancing soul crippled
by shadows that haunt.
your wings of flesh and feather...
you smell like... me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I pray you bear me henceforth from the noise and rumour of the field, where I may think the remnant of my thoughts in peace, and part of this body and my soul with contemplation and devout desires.
quote by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Pick up the day for what it has
The night’s tail been dragged away
Into the darkness
Like a wailing hound it smells
Of fire ash and the remnant way
Choiceless still petrified dumb
Freezing cold disease stricken
Wrapped in midnight torn patches
Tomorrow there will be another one
Boy or girl lighting their last matches
No they don’t, no they’ve never known
Never known it’s Christmas time
They had to
Pick up the day for what it has
And drag it away into the night
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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