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One morn before me were three figures seen,
     I With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced;
And one behind the other stepp'd serene,
     In placid sandals, and in white robes graced;
They pass'd, like figures on a marble urn,
     When shifted round to see the other side;
          They came again; as when the urn once more
Is shifted round, the first seen shades return;
     And they were strange to me, as may betide
          With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore.

How is it, Shadows! that I knew ye not?
     How came ye muffled in so hush a masque?
Was it a silent deep-disguised plot
     To steal away, and leave without a task
My idle days? Ripe was the drowsy hour;
     The blissful cloud of summer-indolence
          Benumb'd my eyes; my pulse grew less and less;
Pain had no sting, and pleasure's wreath no flower:
     O, why did ye not melt, and leave my sense
          Unhaunted quite of all but---nothingness?

A third time came they by;---alas! wherefore?
     My sleep had been embroider'd with dim dreams;
My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o'er
     With flowers, and stirring shades, and baffled beams:
The morn was clouded, but no shower fell,
     Tho' in her lids hung the sweet tears of May;
          The open casement press'd a new-leav'd vine,
Let in the budding warmth and throstle's lay;
     O Shadows! 'twas a time to bid farewell!
          Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine.

A third time pass'd they by, and, passing, turn'd
     Each one the face a moment whiles to me;
Then faded, and to follow them I burn'd
     And ached for wings, because I knew the three;
The first was a fair maid, and Love her name;
     The second was Ambition, pale of cheek,
          And ever watchful with fatigued eye;
The last, whom I love more, the more of blame
     Is heap'd upon her, maiden most unmeek,---
          I knew to be my demon Poesy.

They faded, and, forsooth! I wanted wings:
     O folly! What is Love! and where is it?
And for that poor Ambition---it springs
     From a man's little heart's short fever-fit;
For Poesy!---no,---she has not a joy,---
     At least for me,---so sweet as drowsy noons,
          And evenings steep'd in honied indolence;
O, for an age so shelter'd from annoy,
     That I may never know how change the moons,
          Or hear the voice of busy common-sense!

So, ye three Ghosts, adieu! Ye cannot raise
     My head cool-bedded in the flowery grass;
For I would not be dieted with praise,
     A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce!
Fade sofdy from my eyes, and be once more
     In masque-like figures on the dreamy urn;
          Farewell! I yet have visions for the night,
And for the day faint visions there is store;
     Vanish, ye Phantoms! from my idle spright,
          Into the clouds, and never more return!
HE stood among a crowd at Dromahair;
His heart hung all upon a silken dress,
And he had known at last some tenderness,
Before earth took him to her stony care;
But when a man poured fish into a pile,
It Seemed they raised their little silver heads,
And sang what gold morning or evening sheds
Upon a woven world-forgotten isle
Where people love beside the ravelled seas;
That Time can never mar a lover's vows
Under that woven changeless roof of boughs:
The singing shook him out of his new ease.
He wandered by the sands of Lissadell;
His mind ran all on money cares and fears,
And he had known at last some prudent years
Before they heaped his grave under the hill;
But while he passed before a plashy place,
A lug-worm with its grey and muddy mouth
Sang that somewhere to north or west or south
There dwelt a gay, exulting, gentle race
Under the golden or the silver skies;
That if a dancer stayed his hungry foot
It seemed the sun and moon were in the fruit:
And at that singing he was no more wise.
He mused beside the well of Scanavin,
He mused upon his mockers:  without fail
His sudden vengeance were a country tale,
When earthy night had drunk his body in;
But one small knot-grass growing by the pool
Sang where -- unnecessary cruel voice --
Old silence bids its chosen race rejoice,
Whatever ravelled waters rise and fall
Or stormy silver fret the gold of day,
And midnight there enfold them like a fleece
And lover there by lover be at peace.
The tale drove his fine angry mood away.
He slept under the hill of Lugnagall;
And might have known at last unhaunted sleep
Under that cold and vapour-turbaned steep,
Now that the earth had taken man and all:
Did not the worms that spired about his bones
proclaim with that unwearied, reedy cry
That God has laid His fingers on the sky,
That from those fingers glittering summer runs
Upon the dancer by the dreamless wave.
Why should those lovers that no lovers miss
Dream, until God burn Nature with a kiss?
The man has found no comfort in the grave.
Kaitlin Evers Jan 2021
See the colours
Vibrant hues
Look into the mirror, it's you
Paintings on the wall
How far did you fall
Before you realized you were changing
And not just rearranging
Welcome back to you
Dancing bright and true
Unhaunted, undaunted
Clear and breaking through
With the spring I've sprung anew
So much I wish I could undo
Somehow I'll let it go
A set of seasons done and gone
And now I'm moving on
Mandee Patterson Oct 2013
I've been thinking a lot about one of the more meaningful and meaningless emotions,
the one they call love.

Is anyone else plagued by the thought that with each new venture
the whole experience feels like a regurgitation of past,
like you're playing the same role with new actors,
the same script, but you expect a different ending?

Even when you know, you know.

You say the same sweet lines, do the same warm actions,
feel the same dark often false pangs of "love".

Can you ever go into love untouched, unjaded, unhaunted by your past?

Your mother, father, lack there of, boyfriends, girlfriends,
lovers had and lovers lost and lovers never found,
you think about them with every move,
you think about who you were, who they were,
how this new you and new they could/should/would be.

Who are you?
When are you yourself?
Will you ever be yourself?

Or are you what they want, what they need, what you want them to see?

Can't we just be?

"I love you."

You're just another you.
Crucifix May 2015
I want to create a home for me, a no mans land where we can be.
A place unhaunted by tragedies past. A place where the good fight, is the only that lasts. Where love trumps evil. And there is nothing to beware.
Where children don't go missing at bus stops. And cops don't come to late.
A place where we don't fear what our neighbors might hide.
A place where justice doesn't break stride.
Where evil has no where to run and no where to hide.
Sometimes I turn on the news. It doesnt make me sad anymore. It makes me angry.
Skaidrum Mar 2017
Seize the night
-|-
The satisfaction of loneliness?
Like a mellow grey afternoon and knowing no one can take it away from you.
Let it draw all over the lining of your blood
The thing about solitude is that you see it’s beauty with time and it gets sweeter and sweeter.
And let me have a taste of that morning dove honey
It's only offered to those who die every second a little and the world ends every night for them.
And that is why I have decided
to leave your house and home unhaunted
Yet the ghosts resound in your footsteps
you were rain with him but are a hurricane on your own
Broke the spell to find that
nothing changed in me
-|-
Skaidrum*
ARANDENOX
Hallelujah
BB Nothing Nov 2011
I want to float away
Into the clouds of scattered grey
See the world from a new view
No worries, nothing true
Have chaos by my side
And nature be my bride
I could reclaim the wanted
Destroy the past of me unhaunted
Break the chains of happiness
Adopt the feeble loneliness
Watch the sun without control
And accept the wind as my soul

Then you shall bury me
Peacefully.
Mads May 2013
100 years from now
No one will say your name.

75 years from now
No one will hold your hand.

50 years from now
No one will recognize your face.

20 years from now
No one will tell your story.

10 years from now
No one will remain unhaunted by your laugh.

5 years from now
No one will take down the pictures of you.

1 year from now
No one will be tearless at the anniversary.

So tonight
Don't take your life.

You could have a future.
If you are considering suicide, remember that you have a future.
Please remember that.
Amber Sep 2017
I am not what you think I am.
Colourful, joyful, laughter and excitement.
I am dull, gloomy, serious and calm.
I do not find joy in loudness but in stillness I do.
I do not find pleasure in pleasing anyone because i cannot even please myself.
I am not picture perfect like you see me on pictures but i am raw, a mastering hideous perfectly formed flaw.
I do not have the perfect smile because real smiles do not exist in my real world.
My body is not what you imagined it to be because it is a skeleton out of it's closet.
I am not free as i may seem because i am trapped.  
I am trapped in the flamerous and distructive thoughts of mine that are beckering at what i have become.
I am so afraid of what i have become, i have become so poisenious to myself.
I have become so out of value , i was once a diamond and now i am gravel.
I am used as a road for growth for some and a road of example of an expired female to the rest.

I am done, i am a dead body with a soul trying to live but soon will be ready to take it's life.
There is really no other way to describe myself other than expired, disasterious and into ashes.
I am trying so hard to cleanse all my past, my wounds , my flaws but the more i cleanse them the bigger they fluster.
Maybe the scars of all the heartbreak i have been through has marked the outside of me.
Im fighting a  war with my inner self and outer self.
What is outside of me is building the monster in me.
The last time i checked what is in the inside brings what is from the outside but in my case it is the total opposite.


I feel like my past is haunting me and i see it in my reflection on the mirror.
Maybe this is a way of God's punishment to me.
For breaking all the laws he breaks my outer self inorder to break my inner self.
Day by day i destroy myself by impeckering at what i only succeed in which is my imperfections.
The burning gaze i receive from the monster that i see infront of my mirror lurching and mocking at my past written all over my imperfect body.
I am haunted, haunted by my thoughts, haunted by my feelings, haunted by my imperfection that is lingered by my haunting past that haunts my future.


Maybe this is what i was born for , i was born to be flawless in imperfection.
Maybe i was born to be seen as glorious but as soon as they get to know me they realise how into ashes i am.
I died, I died the day i lost my morals and i died the day i realised how i will never be good enough.
Not good enough for myself and most definetly not good enough for anyone.

I am alone once again.
I am alone yet i have so many people in my life.
But that's the thing, i have many in my "perfect" life that is a living lie and i have myself and only that in the real world of my nakedness and loneliness.
Maybe this is it, this is the hell that i was warned about when i was once innocent.
I died the day i lost my innocence and i was born again in the life of hell in a cell.
My life is a hell in a cell because i am imprisoned.
My whole body is marked and outlined by my past.
My thoughts of my past mistakes are locked in my brain and not willing to rest until i have no dignity left in me.

See what i mean?
I am not what you think i am.
I am not over my past.
I haven't overcome my flaws.
I have not found my confidence.
And i am not perfect at all and never will be.
But with time I will maybe be what i wish i could be and that is perfect in my eyes, unhaunted by my past and set  free by my thoughts.
I know its too long but jus read maybe you'll find a line that you can relate to.
Paul Goring Oct 2017
I adore you
being alive
every moment
significant
& celebrated
  
Washing chocolate
from your happy
teeth
with clean
cold wine
and joyous laughter
& later

I envy
your still
unhaunted sleep
& guiltless
dreams

As the munificent
folded
beer mat
beneath
my table leg
you stabilise
my flaws

you settle me
Donielle Jul 2020
Heavy sighing
Falls and rises around me

Yet amidst all that comfort
Darkness holds me tight to remind me I'm enough for only myself.

— The End —