Jotun
I often dream of huge numb buildings
jet-black sinister architecture
being installed when nobody sees
Their appearance so sudden
that few would take notice
And when I wake up
I imagine being crushed by one
imagining it's weight it's silence
and the absence of excuses for a havoced life
and the priviledge of a 22-kilometer tombstone
Jotun
A body of black
that carried no reflection
defying it's own room
un-earthly eggs of decreation
There would be colonies
mushroom-scattered forever out of context
rising spores from a dying world
to pollute to chase away what's left
Sun-white pulverised desert stone
and serpentine lizard mouths
Pales away the pyramids
rewriting 4500 years of history
raping the statue of liberty
outplays the acropolis
inverting the fjords
invades the N.Y. skyline to
dream it's own existence in one single final word
Jotun
Can we identify them
as the flint buried in our reptile skulls
or the time-bomb coded in our dna
song performed by by In Flames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
We Dream In Color
Dream sequence
(wake up, wake up, wake up, time to dream)
(wake up, time to dream)
We dream, we dream, we dream in color
Wake me up in the middle of the night, tell me what youve seen
Ivory clouds in a sea of blue, fields of endless green
But we lie here and we search for stars
Or big bad letters all the way from mars
The sky is black and the moon is pale, and we cry for this world of ours
In the dark we still believe (oh you know that we still believe)
In the dark we see
Chorus:
We dream in color - but we live in black and white
We dream in color - like a rainbow in the night
We dream of peace, we dream of love, but still the dream is not enough
We dream in color
Oh yes we dream
I wake up in the middle of the day, locked within this cell
The sun is weak on the gun gray street, a cold and concrete hell
So I close my eyes and remember the days
Of a blood red sky and a purple haze
The flag was yours and the flag was mine, but we let it fade away
In the dark we still believe (oh you know that we still believe)
In the dark we see
We dream in color - but we live in black and white
We dream in color - like a rainbow in the night
We dream of peace, we dream of love, but still the dream is not enough
We dream in color
(guitar solo)
This is where it all comes down, this is where the truth is found
Someones gotta keep this dream alive
We dream in color - but we live in black and white
We dream in color - like a rainbow in the night
We dream of peace, we dream of love, we dream of life!
We dream in color
We dream in color - we dream, yes we dream
We dream in color - but we live in black and white
We dream in color - and hold on to each other
We dream in color - lover to lover, sister to brother, we hold on
We dream in color
We dream in color - we dream
We dream in color - we dream...
song performed by by Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Original Sin
(a farriss & m hutchence)
You might know of the original sin
And you might know how to play with fire
But did you know of the murder committed
In the name of love-yeah
You thought what a pity
Dream on white boy
Dream on black girl
And wake up to a brand new day
To find your dreams have washed away
There was a time when I did not care
And there was a time when the facts did stare
There is a dream and its held by many
Well Im sure you had to see
Its open arms
Dream on white boy
Dream on black girl
And wake up to a brand new day
Dream on black boy
Dream on white girl
Then wake up to a brand new day
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Statue of Liberty
the statue of liberty,
it's either black or white
depends on who you are.
it turned quite black
years ago but refurbished
to look brand new, of course
the last thing it should do
is turn black.
the hackneyed mushy
writings about the relief
our ancestors heaved
while reaching america's shores
upon seeing this statue
is a white lie.
the only thing if at all,
the liberty statue
has come to anything is
that it is still trying hard
to stand up for what it is
- to stand tall in the darkest hours
and the broadest daylight.
its torch is marble and never really meant
to illuminate right from wrong.
it wept silent tears over the mockeries
heaped upon him, that it was the first to greet rusty chains, shackles, corpses...
and skin-covered starved and
all human indignities day in and day out
when it was installed.
amid these, the white angels to the
new land claimed for freedom laughed
and perpetrated similar injustices
that fuelled their flight.
america's freedom has always lay
in the hearts of sincere americans - black or white.
our statue needs a real torch and flame
to brighten up those corners of our hearts that we have kept dark.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Dream Guy
My Dream Guy definitely exist
He’s amazing, charming and *I can’t wait to taste his lips
Whenever I describe my dream guy’s qualities and appearance
Everyone laughed at me and said, ‘keeping dream because that’s the only place where he’ll have existence
At first I didn’t believe in Dream Guys
Yet somehow I managed to see it straight forward in black and white
My dream guy is so blessed for he is God’s greatest creation
And in his eyes I’m exalted because I’m his number one selection
My dream guy and I….we’ve came a long way
I have to speculate that God, himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzles from clay
To the world, here he is this dream guy of mine
I knew one day us would happen….wow I guess now is the time
You entered my life and ever since, things ain’t the same
If you had to leave it would be extremely difficult for I can’t commit to that sort of change
Dream guy and I, let’s do everything to help us last forever
We’ll share memories of our past; enjoying the present as well as prepare for our future.
poem by Anita Khelawan
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Turning White Into Black
Deep inside their strong stubborn skulls,
and ev’n in their glitt’ring eyeballs,
they really know that black is black,
no way white will be black –
ev’n when they attempt to burn it to black,
its ashes cannot be black but grey.
But for the thirty silv’rs they want to receive,
they, from their basket mouths that can nev’r
hold on a dropp of wat’r,
say that white is not white but dark black.
Lies are now their Messiah here,
and their odour are their John, the forerunner;
Justice but their Israelites in Egypt!
Their hands are cloth’d with mess,
making all their body smell shit, shit of lies:
in the scept’r, it is there;
in the cross, it is there,
not ev’n our homes are spar’d of this mess.
They know that white is white,
for their eyes are not blind;
neith’r are they, themselves, confus’d,
but their greedy mouths have made it so,
turning justice to injustice!
poem by Eche Ononukwe
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Dare to dream.
dare to dream of far off lands,
dream of of deserts covered in sand,
dream of a future filled with hope,
dream of a place where evil never spoke.
dare to dream of powerful things,
dream of mighty and caring kings,
dream of a word without yells or wars,
dream of a world with open doors.
dream in colour not in black and white,
change the world without a fight,
shout out loud and may your voice be heard,
people will smile with your every word.
We are the generation of tomorrow, let us change the world.
poem by Zoe Martin
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When There Are No More Stars At Night
your routine
catches up with you
you sit on a chair
one night
you stare at the
black skies
and there are
no stars
you imagine
that fireflies
may soon
come to please
your dream
of lights
you imagine
that a moon
shall soon float
on the river
there is none
nothing happens
with your dream
for light
and then you dream
of another
drowsy you dream
you are asleep
you dream you
are dead
and true enough
you never thought
of waking up
because there is
so much
there to be
explored
to be understood
why some people
dream of sleep
dream of dying
why some people
do not talk anymore
and inside that dream
you dream you are
a poet and you see
yourself: writing
simply because
there are no more
stars giving light
to your dark nights
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Single Black Rose
A single Black Rose to turn the tide
A single Black Rose to make one die
A single Black Rose to ensnare the soul
A single Black Rose to widen that hole
A single Black Rose to melt the heart
A single Black Rose to force a start
A single Black Rose to entwine the bodies
A single Black Rose to dictate the deaths of these
A single Black Rose to lie upon her breast
A single Black Rose to stop the tears from soaking his vest
A single Black Rose to mourn this memory
A single Black Rose to become a plot in this cemetery
A single Black Rose to take a life
A single Black Rose to end his strife.
(8/21/2007)
poem by Michael Koelliker
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A Song
well i hate to sing this song
this song written in black on white
the black words so prominent on the white sheet
in the proclamation of democracy
well, is there at all democracy in Whitman's world or to be exact
white men's world? Whitman's song of a great land and love of comrades how deceptive, unloving
oh what a black discovery to know that poets
too could be blinded to the real state of the world
racism, injustice; the loads of chained souls that arrived to greet
the Statue of Liberty, epitome of world freedom
in actuality always chained, mocked in black and white
oh the repair of the Statue a hundred years later
the main desire to whitewash it, whiten it
the last thing the statue should turn is black
this great land, how i wish the vision of liberty
would be viewed in the the Chinese principle of Ying and Yang
an equilibrium of black and white contributing to
a wholesome mind, body, spirit
in the plain of the wild i i cry out a justice song
day and night, of white light that brightens the dark night
and white stars that coujld only glitter sparkle like diamonds
in the darkness of the night
inspired by
A Song
COME, I will make the continent indissoluble;
I will make the most splendid race the sun ever yet shone upon;
I will make divine magnetic lands,
With the love of comrades,
With the life-long love of comrades.
I will plant companionship thick as trees along all the rivers of
America, and along the shores of the great lakes, and all over
the prairies;
I will make inseparable cities, with their arms about each other's
necks;
By the love of comrades,
By the manly love of comrades.
For you these, from me, O Democracy, to serve you, ma femme! 10
For you! for you, I am trilling these songs,
In the love of comrades,
In the high-towering love of comrades.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Once in history
Imagine the world standing still, waiting,
just imagine,
no movement for that period of time,
but something is happening,
dreaming of things to come.
Once in history
everything becomes one
feeling this dream
as the only ecstasy
genuine, pure, elixir of love
coming forth,
Oh wow,
this is a breathing dream,
energy manifested
in different color.
But of course, this time
the world is covered
in the sweetness of love's oneness.
Now, as you're reading my words
do you feel the energy
remember, it's only a dream
or maybe not,
maybe for just once in history
we are one, completely one
with Love.
Dreams do come true, after all.
Once in History.
You have a dream?
poem by Kasia Fedyk
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My Tomb
The four walls around me,
The bed in which I lay.
A lock on my door,
Keeps everyone away.
The outside world has nothing,
Not a single thing for me.
For I lost the angel of my life,
An angel as beautiful as she.
I lay within these four walls,
Counting the time go by.
The day quickly comes to an end,
And then I close my eyes.
It is then I dream of her,
As I lie here in my room.
In my dream I leave from here,
This place I call my tomb.
No more walls around me,
No more bed in which I lay.
I have broken from the locks,
That kept me here to decay.
In my dream I am with her,
No longer am I sad.
For in my dream she never leaves,
Destroying everything we had.
In my dream we are happy,
Our love will only grow.
Reaching to the Heavenly skies,
Leaving the world below.
In my dream I'm full of life,
No longer live in gloom.
My angel has pulled me from the trap,
Of this place I call my tomb.
I want to stay in this dream,
For when I am asleep.
No longer do I miss her,
No longer do I weep.
I want to stay in this dream,
I never want to wake.
For when I'm here with my angel,
No longer do I ache.
I want to stay in this dream,
Don't ever pull me out.
I want to stay here forever,
For here there is no doubt.
Eventually my eyes will open,
I see the walls of my room.
Once again I'm locked up,
As I lie here in my tomb.
poem by Adam McKim
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The Resonant Dream
The final dream
So resonant and pure
The final dream
Will never be at its end
Its long journey almost o'er
The final dream
Has just begun
To rattle the fate at hand
The final dream
Is as pure as gold
It is perfect and will stand
The final dream
Will never come to a close
Yet it has a happy hand
The final dream
Is a grand dream
That turns the time of sand
The final dream
Is such a dream
That it is now near its end
poem by Alex Fischer
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Dream of Reincarnation
Words become strange creatures
Swirling through my head
In the black night
As I’m thinking about
Some unidentifiable flying object of despair,
A lonely maiden with soft hair
And wings like a bird
Always in the motion of departure.
I’m lost to reality and walk through fantasy
When her bracelets smell like perfume
And she mouths my name
And leaves a flower in my room.
Our life is a single day
Where we wake in our mother’s arms;
And as the clock keeps time,
We journey through several stages
Until hours after dusk
We close our eyes in the grave.
And throughout my single day,
A girl I love escapes,
And I dream of reincarnation.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Let me dream
I saw you today after so many years.
I was so happy I wipped away the tears.
The moment I saw your smile
It only took a while for me to notice...
It was you! !
Your beautiful eyes
They still have the power to mesmorize.
Seeing your face
How you move with such grace
Your smile shines brighter than the sun.
Your eyes more radient than the stars
Your voice how it makes the angels sing
Your so wonderful
Sometimes I think its just a dream
and if that be so..let me never wake
Let me sleep forever
just let me dream
Of my Romeo
Of my Edward Cullen
Of my everything
Let me dream
Just let me see your face again
Let me dream
That your not to good to be true
Let me dream
Of your smile one last time
Let me dream
And look into your eyes
Let me dream
At your side
Let me dream Dear Romeo, Let me dream....
poem by Trinidad Villafranca
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A Black Single Rose.
A single black rose.
A single black rose to carry the load,
A single black rose to turn the road,
A single black rose to touch the soul,
A single black rose to widen your hole,
A single black rose to melt your heart,
A single black rose to force a start,
A single black rose to make you cry,
A single black rose to make you dry,
A single black rose to help you climb,
A single black rose to make you lie,
A single black rose to take a life,
A single black rose to take away strife.
poem by Natasha Ligons
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Black Muddy River
When the last rose of summer pricks my finger,
And the hot sun chills me to the bone,
When I cant hear the song for the singer,
And I cant tell my pillow from a stone,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own.
When the last bolt of sunshine hits the mountain,
And the stars start to splatter in the sky,
When the moon hits the southwest horizon,
With the scream of an eagle on the fly,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And listen to the ripples as they moan,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own.
Black muddy river, roll on forever,
I dont care how deep or wide, if youve got another side,
Roll muddy river, roll muddy river, black muddy river, roll.
When it seems like the night will last forever,
And theres nothing left to do but count the years,
When the strings of my heart begin to sever,
And stones fall from my eyes instead of tears,
I will walk alone, by the black muddy river,
And dream me a dream of my own,
I will walk alone, by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own, sing me a song of my own.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silky Touch
Silky touch
The feather might give
Remember, still in your heart
I reside I do live.
In God you may believe
The reflection of his creation is you
It's him in you
Wish, I forever see.
Flowers may spread fragrance
For me it's your presence
Whose each unspoken word remains
my only remembrance.
You may be a dream so pure
Sounds indeed, but strange
Yet your identity is true as life I know
For your absence itself portrays your existence everywhere.
poem by Karan Baadkar
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From: Time In The Rock
XXIV
If one voice, not another, must speak first,
out of the silence, the stillness, the preceding—
speaking clearly, speaking slowly, measuring calmly
the heavy syllables of doubt, or of despair—
speaking passionately, speaking bitterly, hunger or hope
ordering the words, that are like sounds of flame—:
if one speaks first, before that other or the third,
out of the silence bringing the dark message,
the grave and great acceptance of the rock,
the huge world, held in the huge hand of faith:
and if it says, I hold the world like this;
here in the light, amid these crumbling walls;
here in the half-light, the deceptive moment,
here in the darkness like a candle lifted—:
take it, relieve me of it, bear it away;
have it, now and forever, for your own;
this that was mine, this that my voice made mine,
this that my word has shaped for you—
if this voice speaks before us, speaks before
ourselves can speak, challenging thus the dark;
waking the sleeping watcher from his sleep,
altering the dreamer’s dream while still he dreams;
so that on waking—ah, what despair he knows!
to learn that while he slept the world was made—
made by that voice, and himself made no less,
and now inalterably curved forever—
yes, if to wake, to cease to dream, be this,
to face a self made ready while we slept,
shaped in the world’s shape by the single voice—
if thus we wake too late and find ourselves
already weeping, already upon the road
that climbs past shame and pain to crucifixion—
seeing at once, with eyes, just opened, the world,
vast, bright, and cruciform, on which so soon
ascending we must die—
and to look backward,
but know no turning back; to go forward,
even as we turn our faces to the past;
still gazing downward from the hill we climb,
searching the dark for that strange dream we had,
which the voice altered and broke—
ah, can it comfort us,
us helpless, us thus shaped by a word,
sleepwalking shadows in the voice-shaped world,
ah, can it comfort us that we ourselves
will bear the word with us, we too, we too
to speak, again, again, again, again,—
ourselves the voice for those not yet awakened,—
altering the dreams of those who dream, and shaping,
while still they sleep, their inescapable pain—?
LX
The chairback will cast a shadow on the white wall,
you can observe its shape, the square of paper
will receive and record the impulse of the pencil
and keep it too till time rubs it out
the seed will arrange as suits it the shape of the earth
to right or left thrusting, and the old clock
goes fast or slow as it rusts or is oiled.
These things or others for your consideration
these changes or others, these records
or others less permanent. Come if you will
to the sea’s edge, the beach of hard sand,
notice how the wave designs itself in quick bubbles
the wave’s ghost etched in bubbles and then gone,
froth of a suggestion, and then gone.
Notice too the path of the wind in a field of wheat,
the motion indicated. Notice in a mirror
how the lips smile, so little, and for so little while.
Notice how little, and how seldom, you notice
the movement of the eyes in your own face, reflection
of a moment’s reflection. What were you thinking
to deliver to the glass this instant of change, what margin
belonged only to the expectation of echo
and was calculated perhaps to that end, what was left
essential or immortal?
Your hand too,
gloved perhaps, encased, but none the less
already bone, already a skeleton,
sharp as a fingerpost that points to time—
what record does it leave, and where, what paper
does it inscribe with an immortal message?
where, and with what permanence, does it say ‘I’?
Perhaps giving itself to the lover’s hand
or in a farewell, or in a blow,
or in a theft, which will pay interest.
Perhaps in your own pocket, jingling coins,
or against a woman’s breast. Perhaps holding
the pencil dictated by another’s thought.
These things do not perplex, these things are simple,—
but what of the heart that wishes to survive change
and cannot, its love lost in confusions and dismay—?
what of the thought dispersed in its own algebras,
hypothesis proved fallacy? what of the will
which finds its aim unworthy? Are these, too, simple?
LXVII
Walk man on the stage of your own imagining
peel an orange or dust your shoe, take from your pocket
the soiled handkerchief and blow your nose
as if it were indeed necessary to be natural
and speak too if an idea should recommend itself
speak to the large bright imaginary audience
that flattering multiplication of yourself
so handsomely deployed and so expectant
tell them between flingings of orange peel
or such other necessary details of your rôle
precisely what they are, or what you are
since—lamentably—they are so much the same thing.
Decrepit inheritor of the initial star!
do you yourself sometimes imagine
or even perhaps say to that peculiar audience
something of this? as that yourself and they
comprise one statement? supercilious
the actor may be, often is, to those who hear him
but to be supercilious to one’s self
even in one’s dramatic moments!—marvellous
decay of what in God’s first declaration
might have been good.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Rising
Cant see nothin in front of me
Cant see nothin coming up behind
I make my way through this darkness
I cant feel nothing but this chain that binds me
Lost track of how far Ive gone
How far Ive gone, how high Ive climbed
On my backs a sixty pound stone
On my shoulder a half mile of line
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
Left the house this morning
Bells ringing filled the air
Wearin the cross of my calling
On wheels of fire I come rollin down here
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
Li,li, li,li,li,li, li,li,li
Theres spirits above and behind me
Faces gone black, eyes burnin bright
May their precious blood bind me
Lord, as I stand before your fiery light
Li,li, li,li,li,li, li,li,li
I see you mary in the garden
In the garden of a thousand sighs
Theres holy pictures of our children
Dancin in a sky filled with light
May I feel your arms around me
May I feel your blood mix with mine
A dream of life comes to me
Like a catfish dancin on the end of my line
Sky of blackness and sorrow ( a dream of life)
Sky of love, sky of tears (a dream of life)
Sky of glory and sadness ( a dream of life)
Sky of mercy, sky of fear ( a dream of life)
Sky of memory and shadow ( a dream of life)
Your burnin wind fills my arms tonight
Sky of longing and emptiness (a dream of life)
Sky of fullness, sky of blessed life
Come on up for the rising
Come on up, lay your hands in mine
Come on up for the rising
Come on up for the rising tonight
Li,li, li,li,li,li, li,li,li
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dream Is Over
Today...find my way
I met a man in gray
Yesterday
Told a story, oh
Cant bring them though
He was so
The dream is over
The dream is over
The dream is over
(wake up)
Tomorrow, I will sit down fine
Im gonna pay good mind
He left behind
Saw...he knows I know
Hovering Ill go
He was so
The dream is over
The dream is over
The dream is over
(wake up)
The dream is over
The dream is over
The dream is over
The dream is over
The dream is over
The dream is over...
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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