| Mortally Wounded: A Soldier's Tale | Imagine the glory of a love so mighty as
to inspire the hopeless to suffer the agony
of one more breath.
Mortally Wounded; A Soldier's Tale
He is bloody, fading and shattered,
Disabled, alone by himself --
His body's... | Steven Dupere |
| I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud | I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine... | William Wordsworth |
| Air And Angels | Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame,
Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be;
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing I did see.
But since my... | John Donne |
| I don’t know anyone who doesn’t need anything | Often times, ok, maybe once a day
there will be someone who will say
“I don’t care.”
Well I’ve done I don’t care
and it doesn’t get you anywhere.
It leaves you just sitting there with nothing.
Then they say,
“I’m ok, I don’t need... | Lori A. Powell |
| Nothing | Nothing I can do.
Nothing I can say.
Nothing to keep you here,
and allow you to stay.
Nothing to hear.
Nothing to tell.
Nothing for you,
except how I feel.
Nothing to save you.
Nothing to see.
Nothing to know,
except everything about... | Suzanne Rose |
| The whispering of the leaves. | The whisper from the leaves.
Here I am, sitting on a hill in complete and blissful solitude. You can look, but don't make a sound. Look at the leaves dancing in the wind. Stand still and listen to the sound. The subtle blowing Breeze, when there... | A J C |
| Count That Day Lost | If you sit down at set of sun
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, find
One self-denying deed, one word
That eased the heart of him who heard,
One glance most kind
That fell like sunshine where it went --
Then you may count... | George Eliot |
| The Road Not Taken | Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the... | Robert Frost |
| Fragment. Where's The Poet? | Where's the Poet? show him! show him,
Muses nine! that I may know him.
'Tis the man who with a man
Is an equal, be he King,
Or poorest of the beggar-clan
Or any other wonderous thing
A man may be 'twixt ape and Plato;
'Tis the man who with a... | John Keats |
