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"misry" poems
Exhaustion, Is what rings through my senses as I am about to pass out, Quater past three, it has been me who wrote through the night until now, serene and clear was it's beginning which now only became a dark memory, recurring in my sleepy mind begging for slumber, However, such are the thoughts of one who was too weak, Knowledge was ****** into me, yet the chains of destiny remain bounding, almost tying me up to some sort, I cannot escape. Oh how I cannot escape this dreamlike tale of misry and restlessnes, Oh how I couldn't protect my heart in love from dying back then. It all came to the point of no return until they were replaced. But why not me ? What was it which I had left to do to go as well ? Perhaps it was decided that it should have been so all along, I shouldn't complain, even though humans live wretchedly, Living and finding a new light to hang onto, Is what I find very beautiful ~ Murasame
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May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
One More
All-Conquering Death! by thy resistless pow’r, Hope’s tow’ring plumage falls to rise no more! Of scenes terrestrial how the glories fly, Forget their splendors, and submit to die! Who ere escap’d thee, but the saint of old Beyond the flood in sacred annals told, And the great sage, whom fiery coursers drew To heav’n’s bright portals from Elisha’s view; Wond’ring he gaz’d at the refulgent car, Then snatch’d the mantle floating on the air. From Death these only could exemption boast, And without dying gain’d th’ immortal coast. Not falling millions sate the tyrant’s mind, Nor can the victor’s progress be confin’d. But cease thy strife with Death, fond Nature, cease: He leads the virtuous to the realms of peace; His to conduct to the immortal plains, Where heav’n’s Supreme in bliss and glory reigns. There sits, illustrious Sir, thy beauteous spouse; A gem-blaz’d circle beaming on her brows. Hail’d with acclaim among the heav’nly choirs, Her soul new-kindling with seraphic fires, To notes divine she tunes the vocal strings, While heav’n’s high concave with the music rings. Virtue’s rewards can mortal pencil paint? No—all descriptive arts, and eloquence are faint; Nor canst thou, Oliver, assent refuse To heav’nly tidings from the Afric muse. As soon may change thy laws, eternal fate, As the saint miss the glories I relate; Or her Benevolence forgotten lie, Which wip’d the trick’ling tear from Misry’s eye. Whene’er the adverse winds were known to blow, When loss to loss ensu’d, and woe to woe, Calm and serene beneath her father’s hand She sat resign’d to the divine command. No longer then, great Sir, her death deplore, And let us hear the mournful sigh no more, Restrain the sorrow streaming from thine eye, Be all thy future moments crown’d with joy! Nor let thy wishes be to earth confin’d, But soaring high pursue th’ unbodied mind. Forgive the muse, forgive th’ advent’rous lays, That fain thy soul to heav’nly scenes would raise.
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2k
To His Honour The Lieutenant-Governor, On The Death Of His Lady
All-Conquering Death! by thy resistless pow’r, Hope’s tow’ring plumage falls to rise no more! Of scenes terrestrial how the glories fly, Forget their splendors, and submit to die! Who ere escap’d thee, but the saint of old Beyond the flood in sacred annals told, And the great sage, whom fiery coursers drew To heav’n’s bright portals from Elisha’s view; Wond’ring he gaz’d at the refulgent car, Then snatch’d the mantle floating on the air. From Death these only could exemption boast, And without dying gain’d th’ immortal coast. Not falling millions sate the tyrant’s mind, Nor can the victor’s progress be confin’d. But cease thy strife with Death, fond Nature, cease: He leads the virtuous to the realms of peace; His to conduct to the immortal plains, Where heav’n’s Supreme in bliss and glory reigns. There sits, illustrious Sir, thy beauteous spouse; A gem-blaz’d circle beaming on her brows. Hail’d with acclaim among the heav’nly choirs, Her soul new-kindling with seraphic fires, To notes divine she tunes the vocal strings, While heav’n’s high concave with the music rings. Virtue’s rewards can mortal pencil paint? No—all descriptive arts, and eloquence are faint; Nor canst thou, Oliver, assent refuse To heav’nly tidings from the Afric muse. As soon may change thy laws, eternal fate, As the saint miss the glories I relate; Or her Benevolence forgotten lie, Which wip’d the trick’ling tear from Misry’s eye. Whene’er the adverse winds were known to blow, When loss to loss ensu’d, and woe to woe, Calm and serene beneath her father’s hand She sat resign’d to the divine command. No longer then, great Sir, her death deplore, And let us hear the mournful sigh no more, Restrain the sorrow streaming from thine eye, Be all thy future moments crown’d with joy! Nor let thy wishes be to earth confin’d, But soaring high pursue th’ unbodied mind. Forgive the muse, forgive th’ advent’rous lays, That fain thy soul to heav’nly scenes would raise.
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I wrote a piece of **** and posted it confidently And the only like that i get, was yours. It was you, my bestest friend. Will be posting some **** like this once again Because i know that thousand many people may ignore it, But my friend will still manage to put a smile on my face. Stupid him will still like it. Not because it's a great piece But just because he loves me. Just because he want to see me happy. Just because we are friends. Just because my happiness matter to him. Just because we both love each other............. This love does not ask for gifts from each other Or to that matter daily goodnight kisses. Neither does it ask for your constant attention. In this kinda of love you need not tell me how your day had been like, You just tell me why are you sad And I promise to beat your misry to death. It is different........ It's my definition of love..... FRIENDSHIP equals LOVE.
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May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 2:50 AM UTC
My kinda of love