Everlost, Part I
Lights are dim
My tearful windows
Through wich no emotions pass
Starvation of senses claws my soul
Answer me
Are these walls my only shelter
From the bleeding atmosphere
Take me from this land
"I deliver thee from this agony
A storm to cleanse thee"
Mine is the right to be
Maelstrom of the everlost
This is the curse of ...
All is dark
All but one aspect of life
To be shaceled
In a shell, so misleading
"These are the shells bestowed upon me"
Pass into the darkened of the midnight
Sounds, faceless lights
Hands tear apart
Disolve possess
You alone can take my soul
Take flight
song performed by by In Flames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Come To Me 07
Come to me dark angel, I need thee tonight
Unleash upon me, those merciless hunters eyes.
Come to me dark angel, I crave thee with in
Those hands that tear my heart, and infuse my skin
I beckon thee dark angel, how I taste your lips
That mouth that sears my totality, with a hypnotic tongue and teethy nips
Oh my angel, it is not your light that I seek,
But your darkness your savagery, that drives my aching body
Know me dark angel, as my soul calls to thee
Strangely your depth and demons comfort mine,
As you plunge me into dark desire,
I beckon thee dark angel, I am liquid fire burning for your claim
See me dark angel, as I see thee
Humane though not quite human, pour your fantasies into me
I care not what the dawn brings
I need thee dream angel, tonight be real and only for me
poem by Kira Bloom
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The Curse of Kehama
I charm thy life,
From the weapons of strife,
From stone and from wood,
From fire and from flood,
From the serpent’s tooth,
And the beast of blood.
From sickness I charm thee,
And time shall not harm thee;
But earth, which is mine,
Its fruits shall deny thee;
And water shall hear me,
And know thee and flee thee:
And the winds shall not touch thee
When they pass by thee,
And the dews shall not wet thee
When they fall nigh thee.
And thou shalt seek death,
To release thee, in vain;
Thou shalt live in thy pain,
While Kehama shall reign,
With a fire in thy heart,
And a fire in thy brain.
And sleep shall obey me,
And visit thee never,
And the curse shall be on thee
Forever and ever.
poem by Robert Southey
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The Poet's Love-Song
In noon-tide hours, O Love, secure and strong,
I need thee not; mad dreams are mine to bind
The world to my desire, and hold the wind
A voiceless captive to my conquering song.
I need thee not, I am content with these:
Keep silence in thy soul, beyond the seas!
But in the desolate hour of midnight, when
An ectasy of starry silence sleeps
And my soul hungers for thy voice, O then,
Love, like the magic of wild melodies,
Let thy soul answer mine across the seas.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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On the Edge of a Suncast Sea
My lady, awake thee heavenly beams,
and lay thee rest upon my dreams.
Let it be known thy once tearful sorrow,
and let it be known our demise the hour.
'Away will I take thee.' says I
'Away I take thee and never die.'
My lady, time cease as your tear dropp falls;
the grass of green, now is blackened by thee tears.
Lay your head upon my breast,
close your eyes and forever rest.
Let it be known as thee shed emotions,
you're never alone when you cry dry tears.
My lady, forever I mourn of thee,
standing here on edge of suncast sea.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Sonnet
Oh! in that better land to which I go,
Say, shall I know thee as I know thee here;
And will thy presence dim that glorious sphere,
As it hath darkened all the earth below?
Oh! will that voice enchain my listening ear,
Whose "frozen music" stops my pulses now;
And shall I meet in that fair land of bliss
Those calm, cold eyes that chill me so in this?
Shall I bear hence e'en memory of thee?
Unheeded then will pass the Angel throngs;
I shall not hear the Seraph's burning songs,
And heaven itself will be all dark to me.
Oh give me rather that drear, hopeless faith,
That sees no morn beyond the night of death!
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Eternally Adored
God's mentation surely shorted thee naught-
For if you aren't an Angel, then, to be, thee ought!
He hath bestowed upon thee, eyes most resplendent;
Beyond comprehension-my emotions for thee, transcendent!
The first, when I was very young; Perchance, last whence I, doddery!
As I live my life of wonder, I shall covet thee as my feodary!
Heaven hath no response more beauteous than thee-
Likewise, Earth hath no consort more duteous than me!
Wheresoever you may be, whatsoever you may do-
Whensoever I may have cause to do so, I shall ruminate, of you!
My life was inexorably altered when you sought, then did find, me;
Should you ever doubt your grace, I shall be there, to remind thee!
You are my soul's accompaniment and my heart's reward, -
Perchance, you trust not in forever, yet you shall be eternally adored!
Maurice Harris,8 March 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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Thee
Thy sun is the hope of mine cold day,
Thy rain of tears the hope of mine arid desert
To thee I hope, to thee I pray
My soul's anguish for thee to comfort
Thy carmine rose leaf's the beauty of mine hurt
Thy delicious breathe, mine soul's fresh air
With thy power mine mind doth flirt
And thy life, mine life's only care.
Thy dew mine soul's most precious treasure
Thy bodies heat, mine bodies fire place
In thy freedom, mine soul's lonely leisure
Thy bodies shape, mine eye's holy grace
Mysterious art thou, none shall ever know it
But thou art and the muse of this poet
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Thee, Thee, Only Thee
The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking,
The night's long hours still find me thinking
Of thee, thee, only thee.
When friends are met, and goblets crown'd,
And smiles are near, that once enchanted,
Unreach'd by all that sunshine round,
My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted
By thee, thee, only thee.
Whatever in fame's high path could waken
My spirit once, is now forsaken
For thee, thee, only thee.
Like shores, by which some headlong bark
To the ocean hurries, resting never,
Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark,
I know not, heed not, hastening ever
To thee, thee, only thee.
I have not a joy but of thy bringing,
And pain itself seems sweet when springing
From thee, thee, only thee.
Like spells, that nought on earth can break,
Till lips, that know the charm, have spoken,
This heart, howe'er the world may wake
Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken
By thee, thee, only thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Hymn
Rise, O my soul! with thy desires to heaven,
And with divinest contemplation use
Thy time, when time's eternity is given,
And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse;
But down in darkness let them lie;
So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die.
And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame,
View and review with most regardful eye
That holy cross whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die!
For in the sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life treasure.
To Thee, O Jesu! I direct mine eyes,
To Thee my hands, to Thee my humble knees;
To Thee my heart shall offer sacrifice;
To Thee my thoughts, who thoughts only see;
To Thee myself, myself and all I give;
To Thee I die, to Thee I only live.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Windows Of The Soul
They are the windows of the soul,
With roller blinds above,
Eyes opened up, grant new insights,
Still tantalised by love,
Such that they dilate at the glimpse
Of new flesh to devour,
While watching bodies to and fro,
As they pass by each hour...
They are the windows of the soul,
They help us choose our food,
With instinctive fresh decisions
Until they change their mood...
One day you're in, one day you're out,
One day you're in-between...
But pretty soon, beyond a doubt,
Watch out when they turn mean!
They are the windows of the soul,
The poet's faithful friends,
For such as these still dream at night,
Despite each day that ends...
And in those dreams, the truth's revealed,
The secrets there unfold,
With nothing sacred still concealed,
Beware what you behold!
They are the windows of the soul,
Imagination's spurs,
With recollections in the brain
Reflecting what occurs...
Twinkling with each new happiness,
Alerting us of fears,
The 20-20 blessings stare,
Outpouring all our tears...
They are the windows of the soul,
That's why they mean so much,
To complete our bodies' senses,
Emotions they can touch...
They see our friends and families,
They see our lives so far...
Right up to here, right up to now,
So we know who we are...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Today's Wisdom
As I look at life's closed hour-glass
Of all the errors past
I Imagined how things could have been
If sands had shifted fast
But then life, is just a drifting scene
With time a story came to being
Did you know the mind can see?
Even pass the dark blue sea
Do you know the soul can hear?
Even to a silent tear
There only need to set mind free
And then there be a light
A light so full of timeless glee
To ignite a flame in thee
Which warms the soul
To make you whole
Did you know the soul can feel?
Once you have that light
Your conscience will be healed
That day you ‘ll have your sight
copyright (c) 2012
poem by Godfrey Morris
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Psalm 88
Lord God that dost me save and keep,
All day to thee I cry;
And all night long, before thee weep
Before thee prostrate lie.
Into thy presence let my praier
With sighs devout ascend
And to my cries, that ceaseless are,
Thine ear with favour bend.
For cloy'd with woes and trouble store
Surcharg'd my Soul doth lie,
My life at death's uncherful dore
Unto the grave draws nigh.
Reck'n'd I am with them that pass
Down to the dismal pit
I am a *man, but weak alas * Heb. A man without manly
And for that name unfit. strength.
From life discharg'd and parted quite
Among the dead to sleep
And like the slain in bloody fight
That in the grave lie deep.
Whom thou rememberest no more,
Dost never more regard,
Them from thy hand deliver'd o're
Deaths hideous house hath barr'd.
Thou in the lowest pit profound'
Hast set me all forlorn,
Where thickest darkness hovers round,
In horrid deeps to mourn.
Thy wrath from which no shelter saves
Full sore doth press on me;
*Thou break'st upon me all thy waves, *The Heb.
*And all thy waves break me bears both.
Thou dost my friends from me estrange,
And mak'st me odious,
Me to them odious, for they change,
And I here pent up thus.
Through sorrow, and affliction great
Mine eye grows dim and dead,
Lord all the day I thee entreat,
My hands to thee I spread.
Wilt thou do wonders on the dead,
Shall the deceas'd arise
And praise thee from their loathsom bed
With pale and hollow eyes ?
Shall they thy loving kindness tell
On whom the grave hath hold,
Or they who in perdition dwell
Thy faithfulness unfold?
In darkness can thy mighty hand
Or wondrous acts be known,
Thy justice in the gloomy land
Of dark oblivion?
But I to thee O Lord do cry
E're yet my life be spent,
And up to thee my praier doth hie
Each morn, and thee prevent.
Why wilt thou Lord my soul forsake,
And hide thy face from me,
That am already bruis'd, and *shake *Heb. Prae Concussione.
With terror sent from thee;
Bruz'd, and afflicted and so low
As ready to expire,
While I thy terrors undergo
Astonish'd with thine ire.
Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow
Thy threatnings cut me through.
All day they round about me go,
Like waves they me persue.
Lover and friend thou hast remov'd
And sever'd from me far.
They fly me now whom I have lov'd,
And as in darkness are.
poem by John Milton
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Swift away my Fears
let my soul stay and hug your way
and
my immortal soul, pass, as you look my
path, wearing
my passion of my wish of you
nay!
nothing to give
worth than a shell of
memory, which the end will always
remember of me
you'll be the beginning, a candle that
lights in every moment of today
wait me in your dream and I will always
come
in the endless search of what
was your dream of a lighted incense
of my soul, as the
days is counted of your night dream
with me....darling......
poem by Antonio Liao
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A Woman’s Sonnets: X
Love, ere I go, forgive me each least wrong,
Each trouble I unwittingly have wrought.
My heart, my life, my tears to thee belong;
Yet have I erred, maybe, through too fond thought.
One sin, most certainly, I need to atone:
The sin of loving thee while yet unwooed.
Mine only was this wrong, this guilt alone.
The woman tempted thee from ways of good.
Forgive me too, ere thy dear pity cease,
That I denied thee, vexed thee with delay,
Sought my soul's coward shelter, not thy peace,
And having won thee still awhile said nay.
Forgive me this, that I too soon, too late,
Too wholly gave a love disconsolate.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Weather The Storm
Our city's foundation - the bricklayers job
To safeguard the man and the mob from the mob
The violent, the furtive, the wasteful, the crass
Weather the storm, the storm will pass
Hide and abide by the rule of the clan
And the policies made by the kings of man
By the stocks and the whips and the chain and the farce
Weather the storm, the storm will pass
From the gaze of the twisted and frauds, be sure
You bolt down your windows, you lock up your doors
Wait for the gauntleted sword to swing past
Weather the storm, the storm will pass
You know the squalls calming, the culprits exposed
by a new air you'd heard some experts proposed
Southerly storms and high pressure bars
Possible flooding, riotous winds
Collapsing towers, hurtling cars
Walls of granite, gates of brass
Doors of oak and bars of iron
Covering the window glass
Will weather the storm til the storm will pass
In fifty years, will I instate
My peace, or will it be too late?
In time that's spent, is anger asked
To savour calms that never last?
In a drying day in a drip in time
When the bolts have fled to a cleaner clime
When you emerge from your shelter, at last
The skies are still - your life has passed
To Time
Time! on whose arbitrary wing
The varying hours must flag or fly,
Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
But drag or drive us on to die---
Hail thou! who on my birth bestowed
Those boons to all that know thee known;
Yet better I sustain thy load,
For now I bear the weight alone.
I would not one fond heart should share
The bitter moments thou hast given;
And pardon thee---since thou couldst spare
All that I loved, to peace or Heaven.
To them be joy or rest---on me
Thy future ills shall press in vain;
I nothing owe but years to thee,
A debt already paid in pain.
Yet even that pain was some relief;
It felt, but still forgot thy power:
The active agony of grief
Retards, but never counts the hour.
In joy I've sighed to think thy flight
Would soon subside from swift to slow;
Thy cloud could overcast the light,
But could not add a night to Woe;
For then, however drear and dark,
My soul was suited to thy sky;
One star alone shot forth a spark
To prove thee---not Eternity.
That beam hath sunk---and now thou art
A blank---a thing to count and curse
Through each dull tedious trifling part,
Which all regret, yet all rehearse.
One scene even thou canst not deform---
The limit of thy sloth or speed
When future wanderers bear the storm
Which we shall sleep too sound to heed.
And I can smile to think how weak
Thine efforts shortly shall be shown,
When all the vengeance thou canst wreak
Must fall upon---a nameless stone.
Elegiac I.
From thy far sources, 'mid mountains airily climbing,
Pass to the rich lowland, thou busy sunny river;
Murmuring once, dimpling, pellucid, limpid, abundant,
Deepening now, widening, swelling, a lordly river.
Through woodlands steering, with branches waving above thee,
Through the meadows sinuous, wandering irriguous;
Towns, hamlets leaving, towns by thee, bridges across thee,
Pass to palace garden, pass to cities populous.
Murmuring once, dimpling, ’mid woodlands wandering idly,
Now with mighty vessels loaded, a mighty river.
Pass to the great waters, though tides may seem to resist thee,
Tides to resist seeming, quickly will lend thee passage,
Pass to the dark waters that roaring wait to receive thee;
Pass them thou wilt not, thou busy sunny river.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
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When First I Met Thee
When first I met thee, warm and young,
There shone such truth about thee,
And on thy lip such promise hung,
I did not dare to doubt thee.
I saw thee change, yet still relied,
Still clung with hope the fonder,
And thought, though false to all beside,
From me thou couldst not wander.
But go, deceiver! go,
The heart, whose hopes could make it
Trust one so false, so low,
Deserves that thou shouldst break it.
When every tongue thy follies named,
I fled the unwelcome story,
Or found, in even the faults they blamed,
Some gleams of future glory.
I still was true, when nearer friends
Conspired to wrong, to slight thee;
The heart that now thy falsehood rends
Would then have bled to right thee.
But go, deceiver! go --
Some day, perhaps, thou'lt waken
From pleasure's dream, to know
The grief of hearts forsaken.
Even now, though youth its bloom has shed,
No lights of age adorn thee;
The few who loved thee once have fled,
And they who flatter scorn thee.
Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves,
No genial ties enwreath it;
The smiling there, like light on graves,
Has rank cold hearts beneath it.
Go -- go -- though worlds were thine,
I would not now surrender
One taintless tear of mine
For all thy guilty splendour!
And days may come, thou false one! yet,
When even those ties shall sever!
When thou wilt call, with vain regret,
On her thou'st lost for ever;
On her who, in thy fortune's fall,
With smiles had still received thee,
And gladly died to prove thee all
Her fancy first believed thee.
Go -- go -- 'tis vain to curse,
'Tis weakness to upbraid thee;
Hate cannot wish thee worse
Than guilt and shame have made thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Olney Hymn 18: Lovest Thou Me?
Hark my soul! it is the Lord;
'Tis Thy Saviour, hear His word;
Jesus speaks and speaks to thee,
'Say poor sinner, lovst thou me?
'I deliver'd thee when bound,
And when bleeding, heal'd thy wound;
Sought thee wandering, set thee right,
Turn'd thy darkness into light.
'Can a woman's tender care
Cease towards the child she bare?
Yes, she may forgetful be,
Yet will I remember thee.
'Mine is an unchanging love,
Higher than the heights above,
Deeper than the depths beneath,
Free and faithful, strong as death.
'Thou shalt see my glory soon,
When the work of grace is done;
Partner of my throne shalt be;
Say, poor sinner, lovst thou me?'
Lord it is my chief complaint,
That my love is weak and faint;
Yet I love Thee and adore, -
Oh! for grace to love Thee more!
poem by William Cowper
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This Is My Land
Bill dees
The sun on the rim of the view overlooking all that I love
Lights up every leaf and blade, birds circling high above
With trembling hand I reach down and say this is my land
This land will pass on to my child, when hes grown
To love it as much as i, for all the sons gone by
And when hes a man hell do what he can
For this, my land, this is my land
When young men die in glory and for freedom take their stand
May they sing this same proud story, this is my land
Life fade away, and my body is laid to rest on the ground
May this comfort fill my soul more on the land, I know
That those after me say with much dignity
This is my land, this is my land
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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