"i look outside and it's in me that the tree grows." (Rilke)

i hope it's not off topic (off forum?)

"though nothing can bring back the hour
of splendor in the grass
and glory in the flower
we shall grieve not
rather find strength
in what remains behind"

"...
Let me die in you
Let me die in you
Let me die in you
Let me die in you

Call me angel… your love will prove you true
As I slowly glide towards the eternal blackness
When there is no light… can I still see inwards?
Nothing of that seems to matter facing your endless blue..." (you know who)

"the wind bends to greet his path
but he cannot
stay away
tonight will be much different from the others
but why
he cannot say
lay these hands between them now
in tomorrow lies another day

to be loved
and forgotten one and all
cannot be
this strong and weak but he
stays" (parchy)

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may..."

"She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:"
-Byron

"Can death be sleep when life is but a dream,"

"Fill for me a brimming bowl
And let me in it drown my soul:
But put therin some drug, designed
To banish Women from my mind:"

-Keats

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

William Carlos Williams

I am the romantic Robin Hood
I let lesser men have my girls

I saw grief drinking a cup of sorrow
and called out,
"It tastes sweet,
does it not?"
"You've caught me,"
grief answered,
"and you've ruined my business.
How can I sell sorrow,
when you know it's a blessing?"



rumi

alright this is a whole poem thingy (an ode actually) but I felt it had to be in here

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

this is the way the world ends

T.S. Elliot, vey nice

The Cure (by Raziel)

"The wind twirling up my hair carries faces of my love, carries pictures of my heart
Both are nothing like what they’ve been before, but only one is torn apart
And I slowly turn away, or should I rather say I try, as I can only close my eyes
And I long for a little death, an everlasting sleep, until someone decides to wake me up again

And at night I find rest inside my very own microcosm
Parallel universe
So hard to not become addicted
As I seek myself in someone else

And I shut out the world; the sun’s denied the entrance in my place, since there’s nothing it could shine on
And I learn to steer my thoughts, don’t want them to get caught in the labyrinth of redigesting
And as I find out about the world with my room bathed in the moonlight it slowly becomes so small
Inside is the name of my escape’s direction since it’s the only way I know

And at night I find so little rest inside my very own microcosm
Parallel universe
So hard to not become addicted
As I have no clue what I’m looking for

The smoking hanging in my hair carries faces of my love, carries pictures of my heart
Both are nothing like what they’ve been before, but only one is torn apart
And I slowly close my eyes, and open them again, to think of my next turn
Outside is the name of my escape’s direction since it’s the only way I don’t know"

I was gonna post that.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

"You can find me in morning by the oceans coast.
I'm always there.
If I am not there then I am dead.
The music will fade to whispers
and the poetry will be lost in high tide.
Don't look for me in the sunrise,
feel for me in the breeze." (angels tribe)

Charles Bukowski (1920-1994)
"question and answer"
he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer
night, running the blade of the knife
under his fingernails, smiling, thinking
of all the letters he had received
telling him that
the way he lived and wrote about
that--
it had kept them going when
all seemed
truly
hopeless.

putting the blade on the table, he
flicked it with a finger
and it whirled
in a flashing circle
under the light.

who the hell is going to save
me? he
thought.

as the knife stopped spinning
the answer came:
you're going to have to
save yourself.

still smiling,
a: he lit a
cigarette
b: he poured
another
drink
c: gave the blade
another
spin.
--from The Last Night of the Earth Poems

"and she walks along the edge
of where the ocean meets the land
it's like she's walking on a wire in a circus" (counting crows)

l(a leaf falls)oneliness

Dream Deferred
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode? - Langston Hughes

bluebird - charles bukowski
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?