Thick and red, Rivers and Seas meet in tears, Slowly flowing, they are now made of Fears. Unrecognisable, our reluctant Reality loses the lines of its Fate, It's being reshaped by the unstoppable strength of The Racist lathe. Without shame, breaks, or sorrow It drags the bones of once Free Swallows, Into the Abyss they stare, for no more directions are there to … [Read more...] about Nowhere To Go, By: Ari Artou
Most Sweet It Is, By: William Wordsworth
Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyesTo pace the ground, if path be there or none,While a fair region round the traveler liesWhich he forbears again to look upon;Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,The work of Fancy, or some happy toneOf meditation, slipping in betweenThe beauty coming and the beauty gone.If Thought and Love desert us, from that dayLet us break off all … [Read more...] about Most Sweet It Is, By: William Wordsworth
On The Threshold Of A Sorrow, By: Irma Kurti
I would like to enter your great sorrowas though entering a well that is dark,share with you tears and anxieties, listento the thin, trembling voice of your heart. I have often entered the suffering spirit ofmy friends and have cried for them like achild. Sometimes my days were so gray,it seemed to me that this life wasn’t mine. The indifference of … [Read more...] about On The Threshold Of A Sorrow, By: Irma Kurti
Monument Of Mrs. Howard – By Nollekens – In Wetheral Church, Near Corby, On The Banks Of The Eden, By: William Wordsworth
Stretched on the dying Mother's lap, lies deadHer new-born Babe; dire ending of bright hope!But Sculpture here, with the divinest scopeOf luminous faith, heavenward hath raised that headSo patiently; and through one hand has spreadA touch so tender for the insensate Child(Earth's lingering love to parting reconciled,Brief parting, for the spirit is all but fled)That we, who … [Read more...] about Monument Of Mrs. Howard – By Nollekens – In Wetheral Church, Near Corby, On The Banks Of The Eden, By: William Wordsworth
Raising Our Dead, By: Patricia Walsh
The white lilies you loved to sashay up tolovingly with your silver trowellike a knight in shining armourcome to their rescue- and your own - to build them upin the rockery are gone for winter time mamBack to the unseen underworld again to growimperceptible as the hands of a clock moving invisible.They'll return slender and full of grace as three Hail Marys!Because, you said, … [Read more...] about Raising Our Dead, By: Patricia Walsh