Tonight is a beautiful night. The stars and the beautiful reflections of street lights on the lake have spoken to me. Even during the darkest hour, there is light. There are the stars that look down upon us...and the ones you see when you walk down the road. This world is full of wonders, and we don't notice it as much as we should. Every moment is significant. Every death is designed. Every tear is destined. We are the essence of this world, and it is up to us to be the stars that shine above...or the street lights that reflect on the lake...because maybe tomorrow, or next week, or ten years from now...there will no longer be stars, or street lights...or us. Make this moment count and cherish it with your heart and soul. Tomorrow may never exist. I love you so much, forever and always, even in the darkest hour.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
I remember a time,
Where I didn't know right from wrong.
Where I would wear an orange top with a bright green skirt, because I liked it.
Where I didn't know how much people would be worth to me.
A time when everything was simple.
Pure.
A time when I didn't know of crime,
And I thought the entire world was the country I lived in.
The only people in the world were my family and my other little friends and teachers.
I had a cat,
And I loved her dearly,
I never knew that one day I wouldn't have her anymore.
I had a grandfather,
And I loved him dearly,
I never knew that one day I wouldn't have him anymore, either.
I would pick up dandelions,
And place them carefully in my hair, behind my ear.
Because they were pretty.
I remember a time when everything was sweet,
No tears, unless I fell off a swing and scraped my knee.
There was no sorrow.
No tomorrow.
Only today.
It was simple, it was sweet.
I was innocent.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
Where did the innocence go?
Doves turned to ravens,
Juicesboxes turned to bottles,
Toxic beverages leaving poisoned bodies to roam these streets,
Possessing personalities of ********
Suckers turned to joints,
The high replaced the feeling of love,
Which could propel you to places beyond any hallucination,
Virgins mimicked, giggled at,
Wide eyed stares penetrate their skin as they stroll on streets,
Whispers fill rooms as their sealed bodies strut,
Jealous viewers stand, shattered,
With no purity to share with their loved ones.
Thinking their assets can be displayed for the public to adjudicate,
Maybe we're to young to know about love,
We're young, yes we are.
But what good is a young nation,
With poisoned , broken youth.
What good is a nation with no future leaders.
So I'm asking, where did the innocence go?
Tell me so I can know.
So I can replace the demons that lurk in these infants,
With the innocence that should gleam,
From their flesh.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
In that book
which is
My memory . . .
On the first page
That is the chapter when
I first met you
Appear the words . . .
Here begins a new life
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
My lady carries love within her eyes;
All that she looks on is made pleasanter;
Upon her path men turn to gaze at her;
He whom she greeteth feels his heart to rise,
And droops is troubled visage, full of sighs,
And of his evil heart is then aware:
Hates loves, and pride becomes his worshipper.
O women, help to praise her in somewise.
Humbleness, and the hope that hopeth well,
By speech of hers into the mind are brought,
And who beholds is blessed oftenwhiles.
The look she hath when she a little smiles
Cannot be said, nor holden in the thought;
'Tis such a new and gracious miracle.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
Love and the gentle heart are one same thing,
Even as the wise man in his ditty saith.
Each, of itself, would be such life in death
As rational soul bereft of reasoning.
'Tis Nature makes them when she loves: a king
Love is, whose palace where he sojourneth
Is call'd the Heart; there draws he quiet breath
At first, with brief or longer slumbering.
Then beauty seen in virtuous womankind
Will make the eyes desire, and through the heart
Send the desiring of the eyes again;
Where often it abides so long enshrined
That Love at length out of his sleep will start.
And women feel the same for worthy men.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
There is a gentle thought that often springs
to life in me, because it speaks of you.
Its reasoning about love’s so sweet and true,
the heart is conquered, and accepts these things.
‘Who is this’ the mind enquires of the heart,
‘who comes here to ****** our intellect?
Is his power so great we must reject
every other intellectual art?
The heart replies ‘O, meditative mind
this is love’s messenger and newly sent
to bring me all Love’s words and desires.
His life, and all the strength that he can find,
from her sweet eyes are mercifully lent,
who feels compassion for our inner fires.’
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed—
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?
That holy dream—that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam,
A lonely spirit guiding.
What though that light, thro’ storm and night,
So trembled from afar—
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth’s day star?
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream:
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the side of the sea.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC