Random Poetry

[Vinny]

Was I mocking? Sorry old beans, didn't mean to mock. Merely ... um ... stuporfied =-)

[Bicho the Inhaler]

I like this one by Frost:

Acquainted with the Night

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.


Robert Frost

[Orbiting]

The Little Vagabond

Dear Mother, dear Mother, the Church is cold,
But the Ale-house is healthy & pleasant & warm;
Besides I can tell where I am used well,
Such usage in Heaven will never do well.

But if at the Church they would give us some Ale,
And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,
We'd sing and we'd pray all the live-long day,
Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.

Then the Parson might preach, & drink, & sing,
And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring;
And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at Church,
Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.

And God, like a father rejoicing to see
His children as pleasant and happy as he,
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the Barrel,
But kiss him, & give him both drink and apparel.

-William Blake, Songs of Experience

[Agamemnon]

There once was a girl called Regina,
Who had a.......Nah! better not go on.

[Vinny]

What's wrong with having a pair of antennas?

[Vinny]

(not too great a poem, but I like it)

So we'll go no more a rovin

So we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And Love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.

- Lord Byron -

[Mr Nigma]

i dream all

the world is Empty
of all but i
my self my Soul
the world is Empty
meaningless void
trapped in Body
i cannot escape
all else Faded
product of Mind

i alone am Real
others figments
in my Nightmare
my home my prison
i try to Flee
to no avail
i cannot Awake
i am Asleep
trapped in my Dream


Written by little ol' me. What do you think?
This isn't how I first had it, but I can't seem to remember most of the second stanza. I'm not completely happy with the end result, but can live with it as the final message is pretty much the same.

[underwent various edits to make it look better, and will probably undergo more]
------------------
I'm a figment of my imagination.
Cognito, ergo sum.



[This message has been edited by Mr Nigma (edited 06-06-2002 10:49 PM).]

[Degenerate]

One of my favorite lyrics-

false pretense
a lack of resonance
a derisive sentiment and confidence
these bonds were always faked
crafted for safety's sake
but pasted wings and foil rings
do not an angel make

I see you've left me with your, your last words
it's ringing
with the noteless shrill of jealousy
and the claims of imperfection
and the crying out for the things that you deserve
but you're voice is never audible beneath the anger
in your words, it's ringing
it's breaking me

you can't belittle this
this could change everything
this one is mine to believe
this is unparalelled grace that's like gravity
a clarity i've never seen
seems your last word...

and the hottest words can cauterize
and in anger there's just wasted time
so your last word is just another I won't hear

Further Seems Forever - The Bradley

------------------
Dammit, I changed again.



[This message has been edited by Degenerate (edited 06-28-2002 11:50 PM).]

[Agamemnon]

I lie beneath the water,
I look up to see the sky.
I drink but I'm not thirsty,
I know the reason why.
I'm cold and wet,
but calm and still.
I didn't have the courage
to take another pill.
My friends and family
search far and wide,
for their missing son
who tries to hide,
beneath the water,
that comforts me so,
taking my own life,
it's time to go.

[Vinny]

Old bean's last poem killed the thread

[xer0x]

I like Yeats! I'm doing this poem for my oral examination soon.

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
R shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?


------------------
The infliction of cruelty with a good conscience is a delight to moralists. That is why they invented Hell.

[Vinny]

I also like some Yeats!
I can do this one with an Irish accent.

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death


I know that I shall meet my fate,
somewhere among the clouds above.
Those that I fight, I do not hate.
Those that I guard, I do not love.

My country is Kiltartan Cross.
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor.
No likely end could bring them loss,
or leave them happier than before.

No law, nor duty bade me fight.
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impluse of delight,
drove to this tumult in the clouds.

I balanced all, brought all to mind.
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
a waste of breath, the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.


- W.B. Yeats



[This message has been edited by Vinny (edited 09-23-2002 05:17 PM).]

[Bicho the Inhaler]

I like that one. I remember reading it in high school.

[xer0x]

More poetry? And yes, I read that.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place, where we lie
In the sky, the larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago,
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe;
The torch, from failing hands we throw,
Be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die,
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow,
In Flanders fields.

Poke me gently if I made an error with memorisation.

------------------
The infliction of cruelty with a good conscience is a delight to moralists. That is why they invented Hell.

[THE GRIM REAPER]

GOOD CHOICE

[ChienFou]

Easily one of my favourites. Anyone know it?

The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach
Past the Isle of Dogs.
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala

[Ningal]

"Soneto do Corifeu"
by Vinícius de Moraes

São demais os perigos desta vida
Para quem tem paixão, principalmente
Quando uma lua surge de repente
E se deixa no céu, como esquecida.

E se ao luar que atua desvairado
Vem se unir uma música qualquer
Aí então é preciso ter cuidado
Porque deve andar perto uma mulher.

Deve andar perto uma mulher que é feita
De música, luar e sentimento
E que a vida não quer, de tão perfeita.

Uma mulher que é como a própria Lua:
Tão linda que só espalha sofrimento
Tão cheia de pudor que vive nua.

Translation (improvements solicited):

"Sonnet of the Coryphaeus"

The perils of this life are far too great
For men of passion, principally
When a moon appears all of a sudden
And abandons itself in the sky, as though forgotten.

And if, as the moonlight shines deliriously
Some music comes along to join with it,
In such a time and place one must be careful
Because a woman will be walking nearby.

A woman will be walking nearby who is made
Of music, moonlight, and sentiment
And so perfect that life no longer wants her.

A woman who is like the Moon herself:
So beautiful she only scatters suffering
So full of modesty that she lives nude.

[test78]

Ningal

Did you translate this?

Are you a native portuguese speaker?

Are you familiar with Vicinius other works as well?

He has many other great poems and songs (here I would point you to some of the work he did in partnership with Tom Jobim - the most notable one being Garota de Ipanema)...

Firstly, I sse that neither the metric nor the rhyming scheme were preserved. That is relevant because a sonnet has, by definition, a rigid structure.

Secondly, I think the translation is too literal, thus much of the underlying meanings and subtleties intended in the original language are lost. If this was my translation I would have used many different words.

Thirdly, some constructions are just different than the ones he used and this makes a big impact. For instance, I will use the same words of the translation but try and put it closer to the form he used:

Original - Porque deve andar perto uma mulher
Translation - Because a woman will be walking nearby
My suggestion with the same words - Because walking nearby will be a woman

You will note that he did not use the direct form that the translation used. This inversion is common in Brazilian and Portuguese literature and poetry. It may not be so common in American or British texts, but still I think you would be portraying the authors original intentions better if you used an equivalent structure.

Finally, I would never have the courage to try to translate this type of text (too much work and dedication needed) and my efforts would probably be a lot worst than this.

Oh and I don't know if this is relevant or not, but I am Brazilian.

[Ningal]

Yes, the translation is mine. I did the best I could; I'm not a native speaker of Portuguese and have been studying the language for less than a year, which probably explains a lot. Adding to the problems is the fact that there are some common constructions and such in the poem that Simply Don't Work in English; a lot comes out garbled and ungrammatical if one uses the word order of the original. Oh, and I can't write a meter- or rhyme-preserving translation to save my life, even when I'm intimately familiar with both languages involved, so I went for some kind of compromise between preserving the sense of the words and getting across some vague sense of the rhythm.

Rather interestingly, I was trying not to be too literal-minded when I did the translating. Oops.

[VinnyQ]

Here are a few poems written by my twin brother. He's a very disturb individual.

The Grin

They hung him from a tree
Repaying him his crimes
There he hung motionless
Until the end of time.

Dried up blood around his neck
Flesh falling apart
In his chest, an empty hole
They've cut away his heart.

For everything he'd done
He received it in return
His tongue was cut, his eyes gouged out,
His genitals were burned.

And you can see his blacken face
With cracked and dried up skin
Beneath the crooked nose, you see
The curve of an evil grin.

"All you have is my rotting corpse,
A useless, dead body,
You don't have me, my friends,
Nor immortality."

He mocks at them, he sneers at them
His smile dead and cold
"You've taken but my body,
But I've taken your souls!"

- Huey Ly

[VinnyQ]

In a dream

I saw Da Vinci
Trying to paint your picture
But your true beauty
He couldn't seem to capture

No brushes are as fine
As the lines of your eyes
No painted face can outshine
The way yours glorifies

No strokes are as graceful
As the curve of your chin
No canvas is as colorful
As the texture of your skin.

And on that peaceful morning
As the sun rose from the East
I dreamt as I lay sleeping
Of a living masterpiece.

- Huey Ly

[VinnyQ]

Me


Time beaten this fragile mind
Time taken not yet unwind
The burden heart no longer free
But I am still me.

Men have breathed and men have flown
Civilization and I have grown
The weary eyes no longer see
And I am still me.

Long lost names and forgotten places
Long lost friends and forgotten faces
What once was, no longer be
And yet, I am still me.

Motionless, no longer walks
Motionless, the body rots
Beneath the ground beneath the trees
I would still be me.

- Huey Ly

(I am really worry about him)

[VinnyQ]

The Image Is Still The Same


Majestic are the eyes unseen
by all pain and sorrows.
Nostalgia soaks the afternoons
bending the shadows.
Silent specks across barren skies
A vision held, once so long ago.
The image is still the same
But I've grown.

- Huey Ly

[Stubby]

What this thread needs is haiku!

Any moron can
Write haikus. Just stop at the
Seventeenth syllab

[VinnyQ]

This one for you, stubby:

Three blind mice, three blind
mice. See how they run, see how
they run, they all ... WHACK!

[polyhymniastar]

This is one of my favorite poems by Frost.

BIRCHES

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-coloured
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground,
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm,
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
>From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

[The Doctor]

That is a great poem! Robert Frost was my grandfather's favourite, and this poem was one of his favourites. I remember when we gave him a book of Frost poems for his birthday, this was the one he chose to read to us. I even think he may have swung on birches when he was a boy.

[Beartalon]

Extemporaneous Pity Party:

If I were a million dollars
Everyone would want me
But no-one appreciates my two-cents worth
So they don't

If I were a million words
Some people might read me
But most of the time I make no sense
So they don't

If I were a million stars
Some people might see me
But most of the time they're afraid of the dark
So they don't

If at best I'm one in a million
Some people might notice me
But most of the time
They don't

[This message has been edited by Beartalon (edited 11-07-2002 04:05 PM).]

[quercitron]

ChienFou:

...After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the garden
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
of thunder of spring over distant mountains;
He who was living is now dead,
We who are living are now dying,
with a little patience...


the self-referential sonnet

There are exactly fifteen words,
twenty-five syllables,
and zero metaphors in the first three lines.

The fourth line is an excuse for the poet to tell his girlfriend I love you.

The fifth line doesn't say anything.

The sixth, seventh, and eighth lines are virtually indistinguishable.

The ninth line uses, in the opinion of the critic, a great deal more words
than are really needed to prove the poet's point, so much so that
it takes up the tenth and eleventh lines too.

But the twelfth line is shorter.
The thirteenth line is well-written,

and the fourteenth line wraps it all up, neatly.

[Quailman]

My son (and all the fourth graders at his school) had to memorize this for Veteran's Day. I liked it myself, so I decided to post it here. Apparently it is the source for the current practice of veterans selling cheap fake poppies for a dollar to raise money for veterans' organizations.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.


We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.


Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

[Quailman]

I've got to post this one from a Straight Dope™ column:

Dear Cecil:

Cecil, you're my final hope
Of finding out the true Straight Dope
For I have been reading of Schroedinger's cat
But none of my cats are at all like that.
This unusual animal (so it is said)
Is simultaneously live and dead!
What I don't understand is just why he
Can't be one or other, unquestionably.
My future now hangs in between eigenstates.
In one I'm enlightened, the other I ain't.
If you understand, Cecil, then show me the way
And rescue my psyche from quantum decay.
But if this queer thing has perplexed even you,
Then I will and won't see you in Schroedinger's zoo.
--Randy F., Chicago

Dear Randy:

Schroedinger, Erwin! Professor of physics!
Wrote daring equations! Confounded his critics!
(Not bad, eh? Don't worry. This part of the verse
Starts off pretty good, but it gets a lot worse.)
Win saw that the theory that Newton'd invented
By Einstein's discov'ries had been badly dented.
What now? wailed his colleagues. Said Erwin, "Don't panic,
No grease monkey I, but a quantum mechanic.
Consider electrons. Now, these teeny articles
Are sometimes like waves, and then sometimes like particles.
If that's not confusing, the nuclear dance
Of electrons and suchlike is governed by chance!
No sweat, though--my theory permits us to judge
Where some of 'em is and the rest of 'em was."
Not everyone bought this. It threatened to wreck
The comforting linkage of cause and effect.
E'en Einstein had doubts, and so Schroedinger tried
To tell him what quantum mechanics implied.
Said Win to Al, "Brother, suppose we've a cat,
And inside a tube we have put that cat at--
Along with a solitaire deck and some Fritos,
A bottle of Night Train, a couple mosquitoes
(Or something else rhyming) and, oh, if you got 'em,
One vial prussic acid, one decaying ottom
Or atom--whatever--but when it emits,
A trigger device blasts the vial into bits
Which snuffs our poor kitty. The odds of this crime
Are 50 to 50 per hour each time.
The cylinder's sealed. The hour's passed away. Is
Our pussy still purring--or pushing up daisies?
Now, you'd say the cat either lives or it don't
But quantum mechanics is stubborn and won't.
Statistically speaking, the cat (goes the joke),
Is half a cat breathing and half a cat croaked.
To some this may seem a ridiculous split,
But quantum mechanics must answer, "Tough @#&!
We may not know much, but one thing's fo' sho':
There's things in the cosmos that we cannot know.
Shine light on electrons--you'll cause them to swerve.
The act of observing disturbs the observed--
Which ruins your test. But then if there's no testing
To see if a particle's moving or resting
Why try to conjecture? Pure useless endeavor!
We know probability--certainty, never.'
The effect of this notion? I very much fear
'Twill make doubtful all things that were formerly clear.
Till soon the cat doctors will say in reports,
"We've just flipped a coin and we've learned he's a corpse."'
So saith Herr Erwin. Quoth Albert, "You're nuts.
God doesn't play dice with the universe, putz.
I'll prove it!" he said, and the Lord knows he tried--
In vain--until fin'ly he more or less died.
Win spoke at the funeral: "Listen, dear friends,
Sweet Al was my buddy. I must make amends.
Though he doubted my theory, I'll say of this saint:
Ten-to-one he's in heaven--but five bucks says he ain't."

--CECIL ADAMS

[Termital]

Translating poetry
from Greek into English
yields results so corny,
so utterly rubbish,
I'll cease and desist
all such fruitless effort,
instead post this lyricist
and hope for your rapport.
His tempos are weird,
his meaning precise,
his lines burn bold
in certain demise.
Reading his verse
can be a scary trip,
no pay to advertise
A Thousand Kisses Deep.


A Thousand Kisses Deep
for Sandy

The ponies run, the girls are young,
The odds are there to beat.
You win a while, and then it's done -
Your little winning streak.
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat,
You live your life as if it's real,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

I'm turning tricks, I'm getting fixed,
I'm back on Boogie Street.
You lose your grip, and then you slip
Into the Masterpiece.
And maybe I had miles to drive,
And promises to keep;
You ditch it all to stay alive,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

And sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

Confined to sex, we pressed against
The limits of the sea;
I saw there were no oceans left
For scavengers like me.
I made it to the forward deck
I blessed our remnant fleet -
And then consented to be wrecked,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

I'm turning tricks, I'm getting fixed,
I'm back on Boogie Street.
I guess they won't exchange the gifts
That you were meant to keep.
And quiet is the thought of you
The file on you complete,
Except what we forgot to do,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

And sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

The ponies run, the girls are young,
The odds are there to beat.
You win a while, and then it's done -
Your little winning streak.
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat,
You live your life as if it's real,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

--Leonard Cohen

[Termital]

Quailman, the Straight Dope poem might just be the best on the thread .

Oh, and is it the civilised climate here the reason this thread isn't in OT? I'd hate to think this thread got started by someone thinking poetry is for educational purposes only.

Hope you like this submission. I couldn't for the life of me do a proper translation of my current favorite. Bah@me then .

And VinnyQ, you have reasons to worry. He's actually pretty good .

[This message has been edited by Termital (edited 11-18-2002 02:33 AM).]

[Ningal]

[Termital]

The only Greek GL member I ever came across is Taflinel, who only posted once some uninspired if competent translations (probably not his). Plus I'm -still- working off a book. If the text ever gets on my PC, I'll post it. But for now,

My Mistress' Eyes are Nothing like the Sun (Sonnet CXXX)

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go:
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

-- William Shakespear

[Ningal]

I haven't seen a post from phileris in a bit of a while, but I believe s/he may have been Greek; I, for my part, speak pretty fair Greek for someone who never lived anywhere but New York, if I do say so myself. But...yeah. *shrugs*

*ponders inflicting Sylvia Plath on the poor unsuspecting GLers*

[Bicho the Inhaler]

Heh heh. That column by Cecil was inspired. But didn't Einstein have his famous argument with Niels Bohr, not Schrodinger?

[VinnyQ]

Terminat,

The reason why I put the thread here is not because I think poetries are for educational purpose only, I just wanted people to start using this Forum, it's feeling a bit neglected ...


p.s. Huey thank you for the kind words.

[VinnyQ]

DO NOT GO GENTLY INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into the good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

- Dylan Thomas

[Termital]

Nice one. And so are these lyrics by Nick Cave:


As I Sat Sadly By Her Side

As I sat sadly by her side
At the window, through the glass
She stroked a kitten in her lap
And we watched the world as it fell past
Softly she spoke these words to me
And with brand new eyes, open wide
We pressed our faces to the glass
As I sat sadly by her side

She said, "Father, mother, sister, brother,
Uncle, aunt, nephew, niece,
Soldier, sailor, physician, labourer,
Actor, scientist, mechanic, priest
Earth and moon and sun and stars
Planets and comets with tails blazing
All are there forever falling
Falling lovely and amazing"

Then she smiled and turned to me
And waited for me to reply
Her hair was falling down her shoulders
As I sat sadly by her side

As I sat sadly by her side
The kitten she did gently pass
Over to me and again we pressed
Our different faces to the glass
"That may be very well", I said
"But watch the one falling in the street
See him gesture to his neighbours
See him trampled beneath their feet
All outward motion connects to nothing
For each is concerned with their immediate need
Witness the man reaching up from the gutter
See the other one stumbling on who can not see"

With trembling hand I turned toward her
And pushed the hair out of her eyes
The kitten jumped back to her lap
As I sat sadly by her side

Then she drew the curtains down
And said, "When will you ever learn
That what happens there beyond the glass
Is simply none of your concern?
God has given you but one heart
You are not a home for the hearts of your brothers

And God does not care for your benevolence
Anymore than he cares for the lack of it in others
Nor does he care for you to sit
At windows in judgement of the world He created
While sorrows pile up around you
Ugly, useless and over-inflated"

At which she turned her head away
Great tears leaping from her eyes
I could not wipe the smile from my face
As I sat sadly by her side

________________________________

And No More Shall We Part

And no more shall we part
It will no longer be necessary
And no more will I say, dear heart
I am alone and she has left me

And no more shall we part
The contracts are drawn up, the ring is locked upon the finger
And never again will my letters start
Sadly, or in the depths of winter

And no more shall we part
All the hatchets have been buried now
And all of birds will sing to your beautiful heart
Upon the bough

And no more shall we part
Your chain of command has been silenced now
And all of those birds would've sung to your beautiful heart
Anyhow

Lord, stay by me
Don't go down
I will never be free
If I'm not free now

Lord, stay by me
Don't go down
I never was free
What are you talking about?

For no more shall we part
And no more shall we part