The Sentinel
Along deserted avenues
Steam begins to rise
The figures primed and ready
Prepared for quick surprise
Hes watchin for a sign
His life is on the line
Dogs whine in the alleys
Smoke is on the wind
From deep inside its empty shell
A cathedral bell begins to toll
A storm begins to grow
Amidst the upturned burned-out cars
The challengers await
And in their fists clutch iron bars
With which to seal his fate
Across his chest is scabbards rest
The rows of throwing knives
Whose razor points in challenged tests
Have finished many lives
Now facing one another
The stand-off eats at time
Then all at once a silence falls
As the bell ceases its chime
Upon this sign the challengers
With shrieks and cries rush forth
The knives fly out like bullets
Upon their deadly course
Screams of pain and agony
Rent the silent air
Amidst the dying bodies
Blood runs everywhere
The figure stands expressionless
Impassive and alone
Unmoved by this victory
And the seeds of death hes sown
Sworn to avenge
Condemn to hell
Tempt not the blade
All fear the sentinel
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Sentinel
Along deserted avenues
Steam begins to rise
The figures primed and ready
Prepared for quick surprise
Hes watchin for a sign
His life is on the line
Dogs whine in the alleys
Smoke is on the wind
From deep inside its empty shell
A cathedral bell begins to toll
A storm begins to grow
Amidst the upturned burned-out cars
The challengers await
And in their fists clutch iron bars
With which to seal his fate
Across his chest is scabbards rest
The rows of throwing knives
Whose razor points in challenged tests
Have finished many lives
Now facing one another
The stand-off eats at time
Then all at once a silence falls
As the bell ceases its chime
Upon this sign the challengers
With shrieks and cries rush forth
The knives fly out like bullets
Upon their deadly course
Screams of pain and agony
Rent the silent air
Amidst the dying bodies
Blood runs everywhere
The figure stands expressionless
Impassive and alone
Unmoved by this victory
And the seeds of death hes sown
Sworn to avenge
Condemn to hell
Tempt not the blade
All fear the sentinel
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Swords & Knives
A waking world of innocence
So grave those first born cries
When life begins with needles and pins
It ends with swords and knives
Oh dangerman, oh dangerman
Your blade fits like a glove
When forged in steel
Time cannot heal
That blood red bond of love
In times of trouble youre an open book
With the change in the way you look
And its sad loves not enough to make things better
Turn the tables, well burn the fables
Lies beneath the visions and daydreams
Fooled by now, we mystify the past
Like a dream, like it never happened
When life begins with needles and pins
It ends with swords and knives
God save those born to die
song performed by by Tears For Fears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Floral Petal Dress
The cold morning wind clinically
Undresses the flower’s petal dress,
Still standing tall the birth of seeds begins
Their random atmospheric journey,
Pollination primed by the winged midwife,
Rising higher o’er hills and vale for a new life
Twisting and waving to friends flying by.
The sun shows his early warm face as
He’s calming the wind to a gentle lull,
A sign for all the seeds to spiral down
To their resting place where nature has sewn,
Some land right onto a sheep’s ear
A quick shake and their off no fear,
Then more fall on a cow’s tail
With a moo and a flick no problems avail,
They all land safely and will sleep until spring,
Then will wake and grow when the birdies do sing.
poem by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Shot At Glory
Let me hear the battle cry
Calling on the wind
Let me see the banners fly
Before the storm begins
Let me feel the spirits soar
Destroy the enemy
Striking at the evil core
For all the world to see
This day will last forever
Deep in the hearts of men
Courage and victory
Remember, remember
One shot at glory
In the crossfire overhead
Fate stands before me
Words have all been said
One shot at glory
Driving hard and seeing red
Destiny calls me
One night of fire
One shot at glory
Fighting on with dignity
In life and death we deal
The power and the majesty
Amidst the blood and steel
I still hear the battle cry
The call goes on and on
I still see the banners fly
The battles always won
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bulletproof
Hey, it's me. Got a kevlar vest ornating my chest,
Walking a battlefield, with scars only partly healed.
Bullets and rockets explode, as the dead's bones corrode.
But I got a kevlar vest ornating my chest.
Hey! Got nothing to fear right? I walk the alleys at night.
I'm a gun-toting machine, stop me if you can!
Bulletproof, gun in hand, tis this an invincible man?
But did I tell you where I've got most my scars?
They're under my kevlar vest ornating my chest.
Deep and hard, some still bleeding, jagged scars.
Many bullets have hit, but few through could they get.
So now you ask, from where are those scars you mask?
Most of my scars are on my back, the sad fact:
I'm bulletproof, but the knives still go through.
Got a kevlar vest ornating my chest, might be bulletproof, but the knives still go through.
Bulletproof...
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Saints In Hell
They laughed at their gods
And fought them in vain
So he turned his back on them
And left them in pain
Now here come the saints
With their banners held high
Each one of them martyrs
Quite willing to die
Wake the dead, the saints are in hell
Wake the dead, theyve come for the bell
Cover your fists
Razor your spears
Its been our possession
For 8,000 years
Fetch the scream eagles
Unleash the wild cats
Set loose the king cobras
And blood sucking bats
Wake the dead, the saints are in hell
Wake the dead, theyve come for the bell
We are saints
In hell
We are saints
In hell
Were going down
Into the fire
Were going down
Into the fire
The streets run with blood from the mass mutilation
As carnage took toll for the bell
Abattoir, abattoir, mon dieu quelle horreur
For a time is was like second hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
The battle is over, the saints are alive
How can we all thank you, we felt so despised
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
Saints in hell
(fade)
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When the Pain Begun Begins to Mend
When the pain begun begins to mend,
The sky is brighter.
The clouds then start to drift.
The rain dries and the thunder stops.
When the pain begun begins to mend,
A freshness occurs.
The Sun invites a rendezvous.
Just to sit with it,
And feel...
A soothing come over you.
When the pain begun begins to mend,
And you are there...
Ready to be healed,
Feeling a once broken heart...
Being pieced back together,
Completely.
When the pain begun begins to mend,
You are prepared to forget.
Wanting to forgive.
And wishing to be forgiven.
When the pain begun begins to mend!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Opposite Begins
When one has had it,
With a havoc that misfits...
That one agitated,
Finds an exit and splits.
People known to create conflict,
Seek an attention they don't get...
Until,
The opposite begins.
Opposition steps in.
They pretend a trust to believe,
To have others perceive but...
The opposite begins,
For them.
Wake up and take notice,
That the opposite begins for them.
Those who charade innocence.
The opposite begins for them.
Those masking evil intent.
The opposite begins for them.
When one has had it,
With a havoc that misfits...
Well,
The opposite begins.
The opposite begins.
And...
That one agitated,
Finds an exit and splits.
But then,
The opposite begins.
The opposite begins.
That one who's had it,
Splits and runs into love...
To know the opposite begins,
When someone genuine comes in...
To view.
When one has had it,
With a havoc that misfits...
Well,
The opposite begins.
The opposite begins.
And...
That one who's had it,
Splits and runs into love...
To know the opposite begins,
When someone genuine comes in...
To view.
They want it quick.
And...
When one has had it,
With a havoc that misfits...
To then see someone who genuinely fits,
Well...
The opposite begins pursued.
Oh yes it does.
An opposite begins pursued.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Orphaned Land - The Storm Still Rages Inside
The rain keeps on falling
Filling the dried land
It drinks the purity of life
(The) land starts to grow
It must be a sign
A message from God's hand
Like tears from the sky
Water begins its flow
Left alone, deserted so long ago
The storm still rages inside
Before the dawn rises I cannot see the light
This land's ground grows weak
Shall we find the path ?
The preacher's words were right
I can't see anyway to (the outer world)
Tears do flow, yet can't conceal
This land is barren, it does not feel
Our self-made slaughter
By our own hands
Here lies the orphaned land...
Suddenly lightning strikes the earth
It marks the sign of my rebirth
Seeds of love from myself evolve
This cannot be living - without (your) safety
The storm still rages inside...
Invisible rays penetrate the ground
This land to die is surely bound
Suffer but doesn't scream
Can this be a hopeless dream ?
song performed by by Orphaned Land
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When a Consciousness Begins to Lift
When a consciousness begins to lift...
To leave behind foolishness that exists.
There seems to be an acceptance of it.
As if one realizes,
A birth has been committed.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
A release of limitations,
Easily takes a shift.
No longer is one concerned,
About winning conflicts with enemies burned.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
It becomes easier to observe,
Those disturbed and their afflictions addicted.
Enjoyed and unrestricted.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
It is best to rest.
And let it accept the truth,
That comes with it.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
Expect a shock and some loneliness.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
Those experiencing this,
Are left to feel estranged!
Alienated,
From that...
Which one had thought,
Was sane!
When a consciousness begins to lift...
Enjoy it as a gift.
Unveiling an abundance of understanding.
Connecting a peace that can be reached.
With a wish to share and treat.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
From those taught they should live,
With lives accepted in self defeat!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Epitaph
The wall on which the prophets wrote
Is cracking at the seams.
Upon the instruments of death
The sunlight brightly gleams.
When every man is torn apart
With nightmares and with dreams,
Will no one lay the laurel wreath
As silence drowns the screams.
Between the iron gates of fate,
The seeds of time were sown,
And watered by the deeds of those
Who know and who are known;
Knowledge is a deadly friend
When no one sets the rules.
The fate of all mankind I see
Is in the hands of fools.
Confusion will be my epitaph.
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back
And laugh.
But I fear tomorrow Ill be crying,
Yes I fear tomorrow Ill be crying.
song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Recycled
The hollow of that empty shell
Now void of life but stands to tell
A lifeless carcass hard as tusk
Devoid of heart as upturned husk
As empty as one mindless act
That lures to death in sordid pact
So cold just likened winters face
No life nor favours given grace
Such fear that haunts our waking seconds
Unknown destiny that beckons
Face the bell that rings our name
Life and times the dying game.
I understand my mortal self
My worth not judged on merely wealth
And life must have a journey's end
Embrace it as you would a friend.
poem by Dave James
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Is This Death?
Darkness deep from which you come
the harvest of my works thus sown
Pain, agony, suffering, Glorifying Worth
Such is the way with this war's birth
A covering tarp can not sheild from the torrent flood
Every dropp was like a rain of spears
The fires of the battlefield cover our world
Virgining power erupts to chaos, power spreads to another
Consumed by flame, holocaust explodes
Within the eye's fury, the battle draws our lust
A burning rage engulfs, The Sword's thrust for blood
I stand grasping this creaton, my weapon growing strong
After His rise I shall return but for now I sit brooding
The counter strike thus unnecary the return has come
My strength has gathered I fight again, have fully rallied my men.
'What happened? ' I gaze around
The body proud, flailed across the ground
The stabbed breast, a wounded heart
A gapping hole to form, unbriddled life to flow apart
The battle Raw begins anew
The rifle stocked, its barrel flashes the blade past flew
With what can I hold a true defence
But the life I hold, its end in sight, can place its vice upon their fence
The seige begins, the counter strike reigns
a seal expands a passion's power launches
The walls have fallen and force rush in
Adoration expands to the riches of life.
The treaty has been signed
Secure tranquility can be designed
The cover of peace is secured
The barrel is calmed and let down for now
poem by Wycliff Entreri
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Martha
SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Her weary hands their labor cease;
Good night, poor Martha,-- sleep in peace!
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha 's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
For many a year has Martha said,
"I'm old and poor,-- would I were dead!"
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
She'll bring no more, by day or night,
Her basket full of linen white.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
'Tis fitting she should lie below
A pure white sheet of drifted snow.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Sleep, Martha, sleep, to wake in light,
Where all the robes are stainless white.
Toll the bell!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Blackout
no tv
no pc
life ceases
we think
life begins
anew
gazing at the stars
looking at the shadows of the trees
listening to the drizzle of the rain
figuring out the songs of the wind
feeling the silence of the night
deep inside our bones
we hear the collision of blood
the cry of the intestines
the pumping of the heart
we seek the arms of another
feeling one once again together
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Her Wet Hair Feels Cool on My Skin
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin
As she came fresh from the shower.
She lies near me and rest begins.
Her whispers soft, a quiet wind
Caress my senses for an hour.
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin.
I’m at peace more than ever when
I lay down with her in her bower,
She lies near me and rest begins.
Now love’s sensations lie within
A subtle simple touch of power-
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin.
She holds my heart fast with a grin
Delicately, like a flower.
She lies near me and rest begins.
I say that now if this be sin
I don’t in fear of death cower.
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin:
She lies near me and rest begins.
2009
poem by William Mcgehee
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The Bell
I love thy music, mellow bell,
I love thine iron chime,
To life or death, to heaven or hell,
Which calls the sons of Time.
Thy voice upon the deep
The home-bound sea-boy hails,
It charms his cares to sleep,
It cheers him as he sails.
To house of God and heavenly joys
Thy summons called our sires,
And good men thought thy sacred voice
Disarmed the thunder's fires.
And soon thy music, sad death-bell,
Shall lift its notes once more,
And mix my requiem with the wind
That sweeps my native shore.
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Battery Moving Up to a New Position from Rest Camp:Dawn
Not a sign of life we rouse
In any square close-shuttered house
That flanks the road we amble down
Toward far trenches through the town.
The dark, snow-slushy, empty street....
Tingle of frost in brow and feet....
Horse-breath goes dimly up like smoke.
No sound but the smacking stroke
As a sergeant flings each arm
Out and across to keep him warm,
And the sudden splashing crack
Of ice-pools broken by our track.
More dark houses, yet no sign
Of life....And axle's creak and whine....
The splash of hooves, the strain of trace....
Clatter: we cross the market place.
Deep quiet again, and on we lurch
Under the shadow of a church:
Its tower ascends, fog-wreathed and grim;
Within its aisles a light burns dim....
When, marvellous! from overhead,
Like abrupt speech of one deemed dead,
Speech-moved by some Superior Will,
A bell tolls thrice and then is still.
And suddenly I know that now
The priest within, with shining brow,
Lifts high the small round of the Host.
The server's tingling bell is lost
In clash of the greater overhead.
Peace like a wave descends, is spread,
While watch the peasants' reverent eyes....
The bell's boom trembles, hangs, and dies.
O people who bow down to see
The Miracle of Cavalry,
The bitter and the glorious,
Bow down, bow down and pray for us.
Once more our anguished way we take
Towards our Golgotha, to make
For all our lovers sacrifice.
Again the troubled bell tolls thrice.
And slowly, slowly, lifted up
Dazzles the overflowing cup.
O worshipping, fond multitude,
Remember us too, and our blood.
Turn hearts to us as we go by,
Salute those about to die,
Plead for them, the deep bell toll:
Their sacrifice must soon be whole.
Entreat you for such hearts as break
With the premonitory ache
Of bodies, whose feet, hands, and side,
Must soon be torn, pierced, crucified.
Sue for them and all of us
Who the world over suffer thus,
Who have scarce time for prayer indeed,
Who only march and die and bleed.
The town is left, the road leads on,
Bluely glaring in the sun,
Toward where in the sunrise gate
Death, honour, and fierce battle wait.
poem by Robert Nichols
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The Journey
when you can look
in the mirror,
and see your self naked
without running like hell...
the journey begins!
when you can look
at your every action,
judging your self honestly
by motive and intent...
the journey begins!
when you can give away
all that you cling to
without asking for anything
in return...
the journey begins!
when you can do the right thing
irregardless of the cost,
not caring what anyone says
or thinks...
the journey begins!
when you can see the faces
of God in the people you
despise the most, the ones
who've hurt you the most...
the journey begins!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Japan
Today I pass the time reading
a favorite haiku,
saying the few words over and over.
It feels like eating
the same small, perfect grape
again and again.
I walk through the house reciting it
and leave its letters falling
through the air of every room.
I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.
I say it in front of a painting of the sea.
I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.
I listen to myself saying it,
then I say it without listening,
then I hear it without saying it.
And when the dog looks up at me,
I kneel down on the floor
and whisper it into each of his long white ears.
It's the one about the one-ton temple bell
with the moth sleeping on its surface,
and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating
pressure of the moth
on the surface of the iron bell.
When I say it at the window,
the bell is the world
and I am the moth resting there.
When I say it at the mirror,
I am the heavy bell
and the moth is life with its papery wings.
And later, when I say it to you in the dark,
you are the bell,
and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,
and the moth has flown
from its line
and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.
poem by Billy Collins
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