Her eyes of blueAnd the tears they shedAt the slamming of the doorAnd the pain in her head Too late to save itToo early to be freeTrite fucking platitudes“It’s not you, it’s me” Promises to be brokenAnd silences to keepQuestions left unansweredNo peace to sleep Screams become whispersIn the space betweenTwo once joinedNow only darkness seen She stands aloneAs she … [Read more...] about The Ending, By: Allison Walters Luther
Rural Illusions, By: William Wordsworth
Sylph was it? or a Bird more brightThan those of fabulous stock?A second darted by; and lo!Another of the flock,Through sunshine flitting from the boughTo nestle in the rock.Transient deception! a gay freakOf April's mimicries!Those brilliant strangers, hailed with joyAmong the budding trees,Proved last year's leaves, pushed from the sprayTo frolic on the breeze. Maternal … [Read more...] about Rural Illusions, By: William Wordsworth
Sometimes, I Hear My Father’s Voice, By: John Hanniffy
When my eyes are closed on a warm sunny day, and I begin to drift, sometimes I hear my father’s voice. Not words per se, or any particular sentence, just the sound of him. And it is him. For a split second that recognition that it is his voice. Unmistakable. Clear. Almost jolts me awake to look around for him. And yet it is reassuring to hear him in my head. It is … [Read more...] about Sometimes, I Hear My Father’s Voice, By: John Hanniffy
Rural Architecture, By: William Wordsworth
There's George Fisher, Charles Fleming, and Reginald Shore,Three rosy-cheeked school-boys, the highest not moreThan the height of a counsellor's bag;To the top of Great How did it please them to climb:And there they built up, without mortar or lime,A Man on the peak of the crag. They built him of stones gathered up as they lay:They built him and … [Read more...] about Rural Architecture, By: William Wordsworth
Roman Antiquities – From The Roman Station At Old Penrith, By: William Wordsworth
How profitless the relics that we cull,Troubling the last holds of ambitious Rome,Unless they chasten fancies that presumeToo high, or idle agitations lull!Of the world's flatteries if the brain be full,To have no seat for thought were better doom,Like this old helmet, or the eyeless skullOf him who gloried in its nodding plume.Heaven out of view, our wishes what are they?Our … [Read more...] about Roman Antiquities – From The Roman Station At Old Penrith, By: William Wordsworth