Question:

Your favorite poem..This is mine..?

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Invictus, by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of Circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of Chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

And here is one of mine..

Alone..

Forever, endless, diminished imagination.

Nothing can bring her back.

Cold, damp, she exhales.

With every breath, she knows.

She is more alone than she ever has been.

Pulse, rythm.

Where is it coming from ?

Louder, closer.

She can feel it now.

She's afraid.

She doesn't understand.

Confusion. leads to panic.

There is no escape. It has found her.

And yet, she is still...alone.....

by Luci

Everyone post your favorite poem...I'm really looking forward to reading them...

Oh, And comment on mine if you want to.. :-)

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4 ANSWERS


  1. nice poem...does it by any chance have to do with isabella swan-if it doesn't forget i even asked.

    well done anyhow!


  2. T. S. Eliot - The Hollow Men

    Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

          A penny for the Old Guy

          I

    We are the hollow men

    We are the stuffed men

    Leaning together

    Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!

    Our dried voices, when

    We whisper together

    Are quiet and meaningless

    As wind in dry grass

    Or rats’ feet over broken glass

    In our dry cellar

    Shape without form, shade without colour,

    Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

    Those who have crossed

    With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom

    Remember us—if at all—not as lost

    Violent souls, but only

    As the hollow men

    The stuffed men.

          II

    Eyes I dare not meet in dreams

    In death’s dream kingdom

    These do not appear:

    There, the eyes are

    Sunlight on a broken column

    There, is a tree swinging

    And voices are

    In the wind’s singing

    More distant and more solemn

    Than a fading star.

    Let me be no nearer

    In death’s dream kingdom

    Let me also wear

    Such deliberate disguises

    Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves

    In a field

    Behaving as the wind behaves

    No nearer—

    Not that final meeting

    In the twilight kingdom

          III

    This is the dead land

    This is cactus land

    Here the stone images

    Are raised, here they receive

    The supplication of a dead man’s hand

    Under the twinkle of a fading star.

    Is it like this

    In death’s other kingdom

    Waking alone

    At the hour when we are

    Trembling with tenderness

    Lips that would kiss

    Form prayers to broken stone.

          IV

    The eyes are not here

    There are no eyes here

    In this valley of dying stars

    In this hollow valley

    This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

    In this last of meeting places

    We grope together

    And avoid speech

    Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

    Sightless, unless

    The eyes reappear

    As the perpetual star

    Multifoliate rose

    Of death’s twilight kingdom

    The hope only

    Of empty men.

          V

    Here we go round the prickly pear

    Prickly pear prickly pear

    Here we go round the prickly pear

    At five o’clock in the morning.

    Between the idea

    And the reality

    Between the motion

    And the act

    Falls the Shadow

                                    For Thine is the Kingdom

    Between the conception

    And the creation

    Between the emotion

    And the response

    Falls the Shadow

                                    Life is very long

    Between the desire

    And the spasm

    Between the potency

    And the existence

    Between the essence

    And the descent

    Falls the Shadow

                                    For Thine is the Kingdom

    For Thine is

    Life is

    For Thine is the

    This is the way the world ends

    This is the way the world ends

    This is the way the world ends

    Not with a bang but a whimper.


  3. Actually your favorite poem is one of my two favorites, but I thought I'd share the other.

    The Wind’s Twelve Quarters

    by A.E. Houseman: A Shropshire Lad

    From far, from eve and morning

    And yon twelve-winded sky,

    The stuff of life to knit me

    Blew hither; here am I.

    Now-for a breath I tarry

    Nor yet disperse apart-

    Take my hand quick and tell me,

    What have you in your heart.

    Speak now, and I will answer

    How shall I help you, say;

    Ere to the wind’s twelve quarters

    I take my endless way.




  4. This is mine:

    Fresh Aire  -- by Bill Fries

    I am a Raindrop...and I fell, crystallized, one gray

    winter morning in the yesterday of your life...it was cold...so

    very cold...but the year was new and you had plans...and dreams

    of warm places...you drew their pictures in the frost...and I

    froze them into your memory...it was January...such a long time ago.

    And I glistened at the tip of an icicle as you climbed

    the hill with your sled...and when you raced down the long

    icy path, I stung your nose with tiny needles of snow...and dripped

    from your overshoes when you stood in the door that evening...

    it was February, and you were cold, and tired...and hungry...

    And you looked through me one afternoon

    as I ran slowly down your windowpane. The winds

    were high, and your newspaper kite was ready...

    but the sun was gone and I was there...making you

    wait 'til tomorrow...it was March, and you were impatient.

    And I followed the two of you into the woods one

    gray-green day...but when I touched her face, you ran

    to hide from me...I watched from a leaf as you

    kissed her...gently...and she kissed you back...it was April...

    and you were in love...for the first time.

    ...And I mixed with your tears as you said goodbye to

    your father...and when the prayer had been said...and his

    song had been sung...I tried to tell you that crying is

    good...for how can one know happiness until one has felt

    sorrow...it was May...and the flowers were coming up again...

    And I was dew, sparkling in the grass as the sun

    came up one summer morning...and you had a day to

    remember...it was June and everything was right with

    your world...and the child you'd just brought into it...

    ...And I stayed away in a cloud one night and

    let you lay on your back and look up at the stars...it was

    July, the air was clear and you realized, at last, what a

    joyous thing it is...to be alive.

    I am only a Raindrop...but I created the snow on

    the mountain you climbed...I made the rainbow you saw...

    I started the rivers you crossed and I filled the oceans

    you sailed...it was August and you and I were somewhere...

    doing our thing.

    And I ran as a brook in a meadow as

    you walked beside me one sunny, golden day...I listened

    as you told your son about the mysteries of nature,

    and the realities of life...it was September...and the stream

    of time had begun to flow a little faster...

    And as I danced with the leaves through

    their last mad whirl...you gathered together...family and

    friends...to honor your son...and his bride...it was a

    time for festival...and a farewell toast to the brilliance of Autumn,

    It was October, and winter would soon be here.

    And when my sisters clung to the thin bare branches

    of the trees outside your window...you sat by the fire and looked at

    the fading pictures...and the tiny scraps of life that had been

    saved for such a day...it was November...and the days were getting shorter...

    I am a Raindrop...and I fell slowly one night...

    changing to snow...covering the earth with a soft white blanket...

    and as you watched the lights twinkling in the evergreen

    boughs, I heard your heart say you were happy...because you

    knew that if one light should fail, the others

    would still burn bright...

    it was December...and you were getting sleepy...

    What do you think???

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