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The half moon shows a face of plaintive sweetness
  Ready and poised to wax or wane;
A fire of pale desire in incompleteness,
  Tending to pleasure or to pain:--
Lo, while we gaze she rolleth on in fleetness
  To perfect loss or perfect gain.

Half bitterness we know, we know half sweetness;
  This world is all on wax, on wane:
When shall completeness round time's incompleteness,
  Fulfilling joy, fulfilling pain?--
Lo, while we ask, life rolleth on in fleetness
  To finished loss or finished gain.
I sigh at day-dawn, and I sigh
When the dull day is passing by.
I sigh at evening, and again
I sigh when night brings sleep to men.
Oh!  it were far better to die
Than thus forever mourn and sigh,
And in death's dreamless sleep to be
Unconscious that none weep for me;
Eased from my weight of heaviness,
Forgetful of forgetfulness,
Resting from care and pain and sorrow
Thro' the long night that knows no morrow;
Living unloved, to die unknown,
Unwept, untended, and alone.
January cold desolate;
February all dripping wet;
March wind ranges;
April changes;
Birds sing in tune
To flowers of May,
And sunny June
Brings longest day;
In scorched July
The storm-clouds fly
Lightning torn;
August bears corn,
September fruit;
In rough October
Earth must disrobe her;
Stars fall and shoot
In keen November;
And night is long
And cold is strong
In bleak December.
Did any flower bloom, in your garden today, check out now
Love alone is the flower with fragrance, don't water the rest.
An year reigned is dead, the overcast sky clearly proclaims
A dark shroud covers the sky, hiding the good cheer we need.

Alone, I climb up the winding road to the hilltop, to view
The sunset, it reminds the past year of painful events
The skyline looks blood smeared, from a corner fire erupts
Making hate the recurring motif, what's happening to the world?

Technologies to share information is no good, if we aren't sane.
If we use that to sow evil seeds of hatred, poison spreads.
Life turns a mess, all the wealth has no meaning without peace.
Are we not ashamed to be vengeful like barbarians, **** each other?
Didn't Gandhi prove, nonviolence is the weapon against brute force?
~Christi Michaels~

Dark Shadows of My Soul
Memories finally revealed,
Yet always known.

Arches set deep within stone
Labored creake of hinges
Massive wooden doors
My breath, heavy just moments before,
quiets upon the entering.
Dark Shadows of My Soul

Three steps down,
Entering the majestic room.
Domed ceilings. Stucco stained
with colors from long, long ago.
I walk towards windows.
Tall, deep n' narrow overlooking My Realm below.
A knowing. A deep seated
rememberance of a life once lived.
Dark Shadows of My Soul

Secrets, locked away in gilded boxes..
Vessels holding unspoken truths
Trap doors leading to dungeons
concealed beneath intricately woven rugs.
Taste of the air. ****** breads,
roasting meat.
Acrid smoke wafting from Soddy hearths
Dark Shadows of My Soul

Raven ringlets cascading.
A waterfall down my open back.
Pearl woven braids
adorn the crown of my head.
My ******* constrained.  
Rising...cresting  
With each breath.
Brocade and lace lay gently
across my hands, kissing my fingers
My neck long, regal. I hold posture of a Princess.  
My full skirts sweep and polish
these stone floors from time till eternity

Will begin the journey.
Delve into this sordid past.
Facing, long at last  
Deamons. Lies of Old
Embracing now
Dark Shadows of One's Soul



Copyright © 2014 Christi Michaels. All Rights Reserved.
#ilovedoinglines
Quote from Barnabas Collins,
the Motion Picture: Dark Shadows.
Starring: Johnny Depp, 2012 originating from the
T.V. series Dark Shadows (1966-1971)
  Barnabas Collins, a 175-year-old vampire from Collinsport, Maine. Having bridged the centuries, he has been both an adversary and an ally to his extended family members over the course of several generations.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I loved Ireland. Felt one within the Castles. This peice, though originally a challenge, fulfilled the " Dark Shadows of My Soul"
 Jan 2015 Mairie Rosina
Joe Cole
Well this 2014 is finally drawing to a close
Looking back what do I see
Ebola
******
The massacre of innocent children
Countries where the bullet and bomb rule
In the name of religion
And yet amid the madness
The carnage
I still see beauty
Beauty in unspoiled landscapes
Beauty in a simple wild flower
I also see love
The old couple on my street
Married for over 50 years
Young mothers with young children
The old couple are content
They have lived and loved through times
Both good and bad
But the young mums and dads
With the young kids
What does 2015 hold for them?
Peace and happiness
Perhaps,
There is still beauty here but in another form
That my friends is the beauty in your written words
Words that bind ethnicity and religion
Into one family
That is our family, hellopoetry

I wish you all a safe and peaceful 2015


Joe
1214

We introduce ourselves
To Planets and to Flowers
But with ourselves
Have etiquettes
Embarrassments
And awes
A dancing Bear grotesque and funny
Earned for his master heaps of money,
Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey,
And cheerful if the day was sunny.
Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood
He tramped, and on some common stood;
There, cottage children circling gaily,
He in their midmost footed daily.
Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle
Were quite enough his brain to puzzle:
But like a philosophic bear
He let alone extraneous care
And danced contented anywhere.

Still, year on year, and wear and tear,
Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear.
A day came when he scarce could prance,
And when his master looked askance
On dancing Bear who would not dance.

To looks succeeded blows; hard blows
Battered his ears and poor old nose.
From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon;
He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon,
Capered in fury fast and faster.
Ah, could he once but hug his master
And perish in one joint disaster!
But deafness, blindness, weakness growing,
Not fury's self could keep him going.
One dark day when the snow was snowing
His cup was brimmed to overflowing:
He tottered, toppled on one side,
Growled once, and shook his head, and died.
The master kicked and struck in vain,
The weary drudge had distanced pain
And never now would wince again.
The master growled; he might have howled
Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled.
So gnawed by rancor and chagrin
One thing remained: he sold the skin.

What next the man did is not worth
Your notice or my setting forth,
But hearken what befell at last.
His idle working days gone past,
And not one friend and not one penny
Stored up (if ever he had any
Friends; but his coppers had been many),
All doors stood shut against him but
The workhouse door, which cannot shut.
There he droned on,--a grim old sinner,
Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner,
Unpitied quite, uncared for much
(The rate-payers not favoring such),
Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare;
Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear
Danced back, a haunting memory.
Indeed, I hope so, for you see
If once the hard old heart relented,
The hard old man may have repented.
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