Shades of Reflection

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    Join date : 2012-03-02

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    Post  Tula on Thu Mar 15, 2012 5:08 pm

    Angel pain
    ~ dumbone ~

    My Angels eyes are filled with sorrow

    And there is nothing I can do

    To restore its power

    My pain Angel did devour

    Oh you silly Angel

    You have to clip your wings now
    So powerless, disgraced of that what you feel

    Of what I made you feel

    I want to wipe your tears

    Here take my handkerchief

    Because you deserve more then just a paper towel

    Oh yes I know your sorrow

    It’s my pain you did borrow

    And now I feel hollow


    I miss my pain…

    Oh Angel you did what you did

    It’s all in vain

    I didn’t ask of you to be so brave

    I want to be hurt again

    And instead of heaven

    Simple life on earth is now

    …your haven…

    Last edited by Tula on Thu Mar 15, 2012 5:18 pm; edited 1 time in total

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    Post  Tula on Thu Mar 15, 2012 5:11 pm

    Auguries of Innocence

    William Blake

    TO see a World in a Grain of Sand
    And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
    Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
    And Eternity in an hour.
    A Robin Red breast in a Cage
    Puts all Heaven in a Rage.
    A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons
    Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.
    A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate
    Predicts the ruin of the State.
    A Horse misus'd upon the Road
    Calls to Heaven for Human blood.
    Each outcry of the hunted Hare
    A fibre from the Brain does tear.
    A Skylark wounded in the wing,
    A Cherubim does cease to sing.
    The Game Cock clipp'd and arm'd for fight
    Does the Rising Sun affright.
    Every Wolf's & Lion's howl
    Raises from Hell a Human Soul.
    The wild deer, wand'ring here & there,
    Keeps the Human Soul from Care.
    The Lamb misus'd breeds public strife
    And yet forgives the Butcher's Knife.
    The Bat that flits at close of Eve
    Has left the Brain that won't believe.
    The Owl that calls upon the Night
    Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.
    He who shall hurt the little Wren
    Shall never be belov'd by Men.
    He who the Ox to wrath has mov'd
    Shall never be by Woman lov'd.
    The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
    Shall feel the Spider's enmity.
    He who torments the Chafer's sprite
    Weaves a Bower in endless Night.
    The Catterpillar on the Leaf
    Repeats to thee thy Mother's grief.
    Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly,
    For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.
    He who shall train the Horse to War
    Shall never pass the Polar Bar.
    The Beggar's Dog & Widow's Cat,
    Feed them & thou wilt grow fat.
    The Gnat that sings his Summer's song
    Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
    The poison of the Snake & Newt
    Is the sweat of Envy's Foot.
    The poison of the Honey Bee
    Is the Artist's Jealousy.
    The Prince's Robes & Beggars' Rags
    Are Toadstools on the Miser's Bags.
    A truth that's told with bad intent
    Beats all the Lies you can invent.
    It is right it should be so;
    Man was made for Joy & Woe;
    And when this we rightly know
    Thro' the World we safely go.
    Joy & Woe are woven fine,
    A Clothing for the Soul divine;
    Under every grief & pine
    Runs a joy with silken twine.
    The Babe is more than swadling Bands;
    Throughout all these Human Lands
    Tools were made, & born were hands,
    Every Farmer Understands.
    Every Tear from Every Eye
    Becomes a Babe in Eternity.
    This is caught by Females bright
    And return'd to its own delight.
    The Bleat, the Bark, Bellow & Roar
    Are Waves that Beat on Heaven's Shore.
    The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
    Writes Revenge in realms of death.
    The Beggar's Rags, fluttering in Air,
    Does to Rags the Heavens tear.
    The Soldier arm'd with Sword & Gun,
    Palsied strikes the Summer's Sun.
    The poor Man's Farthing is worth more
    Than all the Gold on Afric's Shore.
    One Mite wrung from the Labrer's hands
    Shall buy & sell the Miser's lands:
    Or, if protected from on high,
    Does that whole Nation sell & buy.
    He who mocks the Infant's Faith
    Shall be mock'd in Age & Death.
    He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
    The rotting Grave shall ne'er get out.
    He who respects the Infant's faith
    Triumph's over Hell & Death.
    The Child's Toys & the Old Man's Reasons
    Are the Fruits of the Two seasons.
    The Questioner, who sits so sly,
    Shall never know how to Reply.
    He who replies to words of Doubt
    Doth put the Light of Knowledge out.
    The Strongest Poison ever known
    Came from Caesar's Laurel Crown.
    Nought can deform the Human Race
    Like the Armour's iron brace.
    When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow
    To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow.
    A Riddle or the Cricket's Cry
    Is to Doubt a fit Reply.
    The Emmet's Inch & Eagle's Mile
    Make Lame Philosophy to smile.
    He who Doubts from what he sees
    Will ne'er believe, do what you Please.
    If the Sun & Moon should doubt
    They'd immediately Go out.
    To be in a Passion you Good may do,
    But no Good if a Passion is in you.
    The Whore & Gambler, by the State
    Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate.
    The Harlot's cry from Street to Street
    Shall weave Old England's winding Sheet.
    The Winner's Shout, the Loser's Curse,
    Dance before dead England's Hearse.
    Every Night & every Morn
    Some to Misery are Born.
    Every Morn & every Night
    Some are Born to sweet Delight.
    Some ar Born to sweet Delight,
    Some are born to Endless Night.
    We are led to Believe a Lie
    When we see not Thro' the Eye
    Which was Born in a Night to Perish in a Night
    When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light.
    God Appears & God is Light
    To those poor Souls who dwell in the Night,
    But does a Human Form Display
    To those who Dwell in Realms of day.

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    Post  Tula on Thu Mar 15, 2012 5:19 pm

    The Death of Lovers

    Charles Baudelaire

    We shall have beds full of subtle perfumes, Divans as deep as graves, and on the shelves Will be strange flowers that blossomed for us Under more beautiful heavens. Using their dying flames emulously, Our two hearts will be two immense torches Which will reflect their double light In our two souls, those twin mirrors. Some evening made of rose and of mystical blue A single flash will pass between us Like a long sob, charged with farewells; And later an Angel, setting the doors ajar, Faithful and joyous, will come to revive The tarnished mirrors, the extinguished flames.

    The Death Of Lovers

    We will have beds filled with light scent, and
    couches deep as a tomb,
    and strange flowers in the room,
    blooming for us under skies so pleasant.
    Vying to exhaust their last fires
    our hearts will be two vast flares,
    reflecting their double glares
    in our two spirits, twin mirrors.
    One evening of mystic blue and rose
    we’ll exchange a single brief glow
    like a long sob, heavy with goodbye,
    and later, opening the doors, the angel who came
    faithful and joyful, will revive
    the lustreless mirrors, and the lifeless flame.

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    Post  Tula on Sat Mar 17, 2012 5:49 am

    A Saint About To Fall

    A saint about to fall,
    The stained flats of heaven hit and razed
    To the kissed kite hems of his shawl,
    On the last street wave praised
    The unwinding, song by rock,
    Of the woven wall
    Of his father's house in the sands,
    The vanishing of the musical ship-work and the chucked bells,
    The wound-down cough of the blood-counting clock
    Behind a face of hands,
    On the angelic etna of the last whirring featherlands,
    Wind-heeled foot in the hole of a fireball,
    Hymned his shrivelling flock,
    On the last rick's tip by spilled wine-wells
    Sang heaven hungry and the quick
    Cut Christbread spitting vinegar and all
    The mazes of his praise and envious tongue were worked in flames and shells.

    Glory cracked like a flea.
    The sun-leaved holy candlewoods
    Drivelled down to one singeing tree
    With a stub of black buds,
    The sweet, fish-gilled boats bringing blood
    Lurched through a scuttled sea
    With a hold of leeches and straws,
    Heaven fell with his fall and one crocked bell beat the left air.
    O wake in me in my house in the mud
    Of the crotch of the squawking shores,
    Flicked from the carbolic city puzzle in a bed of sores
    The scudding base of the familiar sky,
    The lofty roots of the clouds.
    From an odd room in a split house stare,
    Milk in your mouth, at the sour floods
    That bury the sweet street slowly, see
    The skull of the earth is barbed with a war of burning brains and hair.

    Strike in the time-bomb town,
    Raise the live rafters of the eardrum,
    Throw your fear a parcel of stone
    Through the dark asylum,
    Lapped among herods wail
    As their blade marches in
    That the eyes are already murdered,
    The stocked heart is forced, and agony has another mouth to feed.
    O wake to see, after a noble fall,
    The old mud hatch again, the horrid
    Woe drip from the dishrag hands and the pressed sponge of the forehead,
    The breath draw back like a bolt through white oil
    And a stranger enter like iron.
    Cry joy that hits witchlike midwife second
    Bullies into rough seas you so gentle
    And makes with a flick of the thumb and sun
    A thundering bullring of your silent and girl-circled island.

    -Dylan Thomas

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    Post  Tula on Sat Mar 17, 2012 5:56 am


    O olwg hagrwch Cynnydd
    Ar wyneb trist y Gwaith
    Mae bro rhwng môr a mynydd
    Heb arni staen na chraith
    Ond lle bu'r arad' ar y ffridd
    Yn rhwygo'r gwanwyn pêr o'r pridd.

    Draw o ymryson ynfyd
    Chwerw'r newyddfyd blin
    Mae yno flas y cynfyd
    Yn aros fel hen win.
    Hen hen yw murmur llawer man
    Sydd rhwng dwy afon yn Rhos Lan.

    A llonydd gorffenedig
    Yw llonydd y Lôn Goed
    O fwa'i tho plethedig
    I'w glaslawr dan fy nhroed.
    I lan na thref nid arwain ddim
    Ond hynny nid yw ofid im.

    O! mwyn yw cyrraedd canol
    Y tawel gwmwd hwn
    O'm dyffryn diwydiannol
    A dull y byd a wn;
    A rhodio'i heddwch wrthyf f'hun
    Neu gydag enaid hoff cytûn.

    R. Williams Parry

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