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Make no laws whatever concerning speech, and speech will be free; so soon as you make a declaration on paper that speech shall be free, you will have a hundred lawyers proving that "freedom does not mean abuse, nor liberty license"; and they will define and define freedom out of existence. Let the guarantee of free speech be in every man's determination to use it, and we shall have no need of paper declarations. On the other hand, so long as the people do not care to exercise their freedom, those who wish to tyrannize will do so; for tyrants are active and ardent, and will devote themselves in the name of any number of gods, religious and otherwise, to put shackles upon sleeping men.

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For the People and By the People

Two million?
Dislocated?
That's nothing.
We have that many in prisons here!
And besides...
They were ruled by a dictator,
Everyone there despised.
Why they aren't willing
To accept democracy is a mystery.
The best way of life is the one we reflect.
Run for the people and BY the people.
That talk about oil has got to come to an end.
We are there to help them become like us...
AND protect our interests from those who wish,
To do us harm.
Just because there are over seven hundred
Military installations around the world doing it,
Doesn't mean one thing!
Those are just 'allegations' alleged by those
Who are jealous of our way of life!

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To A Friend Who Says That She Does Not Know How To Write A Poem Anymore

it is sad, when you think that you do not know
how to write a poem anymore
a simple poem as simple as you
what does it take for humanity to write one poem?
does it take that much from those who claim they know the way?
shall blood be shed to drive another point?

do not lose hope in the power of our ordinary words,
for as long as we quiver, poems are written
for as long as we lose the consciousness about our beings
the metaphors always come and build upon themselves their own meanings

take your time, breathe the air of poetry, and let the molecules
enter your lungs that long to see the light of the sun,
just be patient, keep on waiting, savor the silence, shower yourself
with the light of the moon, on another lonely night,
sleep soundly, and listen to the sound of your snores,
in your dreams, the poems write themselves.

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Does Not Measure Up

They leave themselves penniless.
And thieve on allowed greed.
Bankrupt themselves on bad loans and credit.
And have fed themselves into a diseasing gluttony.

Their decadence is marketed.
Sleazy sex aids and other remedies...
Are given prime time,
On national TV.

Disrespect is expected.
Discipline is,
Not what it use to be.
Today no one knows how to spell the word.
Or know what the word today should mean.

Some believe it means drinking diet coke at a feast.
And those who perfer pepsi,
Gouge themselves but claim to eat little meat.
Trying to convince themselves,
Not others.
Who clear the sidewalks,
As they wobble up and down public streets.

And they gather to meet,
To discuss their displeasure...
Of a new leader elected.
Who does not measure up to their expectations.
Nor does he they claim...
Have interest in protecting their messes.
Or their dwindling treasures.

'And the agenda is...? '

~I'll give you a clue.
You are not a priority.
Does that answer satisfy you? ~

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yes, what if God does not speak english at all?

you were not born yesterday
and probably heard it before

that if your God does not speak english
then he must not be God

of course, something arrogant
hangs in the air
of this effortless superiority that
'englishers'
'english-plongplangs'
clai m, which, of course, we
always oppose and dub
as prettry dumb silly

but anyhow, yes, we are asked again
what if?
what if, this God, does not really speak English?

well, of course, he is still God
and he must not have considered the english language
that important

and i agree, even if i speak it,
i still have this language
of my soul,

albeit, in english, for you,
who does not speak my own language,

yes, of course, for you to perhaps
understand,

but i like it though, this thought
that God does not speak
the english language, lest, he may sound

so englishly, oh well,
arrogant.....

dear God
do you really...not speak english?

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Anger does not pay

Anger is red danger
But a familiar stranger

So It came as no surprise
At the times I have paid the price
More than the usual thrice
Before becoming very wise

The judge said
I should have been put in a cage
If one considers all the damage
I brought on with my rage

I knew
My anger was unreasonable
My anger was invincible
My anger was uncontrollable
But still very reversible

You see
In anger I always surrender
To the pressure I am under

In anger, I ungraciously lose
To the one I righteously accuse

In anger, I immoderately protest
Instead of letting things rest
Then trying responsibly to digest
And deal with issues best

So I say, So I say
Anger does not pay
Anger does not stay
Delay it from display
In time it will only go away

Now I know that
Anger does not pay
Anger does not stay
Calmness you should play
Before you begin to fall astray

Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi

www.sylviachidi.com

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Those Who Betray And Lament

At THIS hour of the day.
And with time allowed,
Over the years to slip away.
Someone sits not to forget or forgive,
Those who intentionally took steps to offend,
With a doing of it they went ahead to inflict.

And at THIS hour of the day,
It would not matter who said what to have what's been done...
Wished away,
To acknowledge what took place.
Since what took place can not be erased,
From the mind of the one this misdeed continues to sit...
Long after it was considered someone's fun!

And at THIS hour of the day...
Wishing for a way to turn back the clock,
To prevent what should not have happened...
To have it stopped and blocked from a doing,
Is not on the mind of the one who is visited with memories...
At THIS hour of the day,
When one witnesses images from a distance...
A payback paid to those who betray and lament.

Those who betray and lament...
Grieve.
Those who betray and lament...
Can't sleep.
Those who betray and lament,
Become haunted.
Unwanted.

Those who betray and lament...
Grieve.
Those who betray and lament...
Can't sleep.
Those who betray and lament,
Become haunted.
Unwanted.
And have nobody near them to hear their pleas!

Those who betray and lament...
Grieve.
Those who betray and lament...
Can't sleep.
Those who betray and lament,
Become haunted.
Unwanted.
And have nobody near them to hear their pleas!

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Death occurs, it does not exist

Death, as we all know
Marks the termination
Of a life process

It is the climax of a
Natural process
Where a life system takes birth
Grows, matures
And meets end

It only occurs
And has no existence as such

We fear death
As we know we are going to die one day
We fear most
The aftermath of our departure
Than what really is going to happen to us after death

Death takes not even a split of a second
To fructify
But we ponder over that
And its impact
Much much longer

We just need to know
That we cannot escape this ultimate end
And enjoy living as much as we can
In a fair and socially acceptable manner
Without troubling others around

Factually, living itself
Is indeed a preparation for death only
Because you are going to die the way you lived

A matured, well balanced living
Leads to a similar departure
A chasing, hurried living
Leads to a unplanned demise
Leaving behind others to chase and hurry
An ever complaining ways of living
Leads to a death
After which the near and dear ones
Have a lot to complain
A compassionate and considerate living
Leads to a death
Making others be the same with every one
Death is peaceful only
Health conditions may at times
Someone be hospitalised for long
And someone incapacitated
And some others becoming a real burden
All these have nothing to do with dying peacefully
As long the person to die
Remains in peace and comfort
No need to get reminded
That we die each time we breathe out
As we are not sure
Whether or not we are going to
Brathe in immediately after that

Let us live
Strengthening ourselves
With the understanding
That death does not exist
But, it is going to occur
Only once, somewhere, somehow, sometime

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Those Who Believe They Are Ageless

The streets are full with aging teenagers.
And those who believe they are ageless!
Irresponsible and socializing their whims.
Those who can not get enough of 'happy hour'...
24/7 and some!
Those are the ones who befriend their children,
With a lack of parenting and a breakdown of discipline!
Those are the ones who confront teachers,
To defend their disrespecting children...
As if that is an honor to show up,
After their offspring have been tossed out!
And those are the ones shouting the loudest.
They can not understand why their children aren't learning!
Those are the ones...
Who do not listen.
But argue their voices aren't being heard!

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To Be As It Is to Please Those Who Enjoy That

It is what it is!
No matter if one's perception,
Does not reflect
What another should accept.

One who finds comfort...
Whether in chaos or conflict that sits.
If it is what it is,
And those have no problem with it...
Have ceased their explorations.
They express no desire,
To make something else from them...
And for them alone not to fit!

Then one who sees this activity differently,
Has a choice to leave it alone and split.
And in the leaving one discovers,
A peace of mind one takes away...
From that which isn't!
Since others see not.

And that which has been declared as 'is'
Finds its own purpose.
And 'is' to be left alone to be just that!
What it is.
Nothing more will it choose to be.
And choosing to see what is for what it isn't...
Provides no progess at all!
Not for the one seeking fresh...
Instead of familiar stale air which is kept,
As it is left!
To be as it is.
To please those who enjoy that!
Whatever that may be.
That which 'is' that leaves them pleased.

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Created With Originality

Campaigning against a 'thing' that 'is',
To dispute its existence like some people do...
Because it does not fit a customary genre,
By those who place themselves in positions...
To pick and select what 'is' and is not acceptable,
For others to embrace...
Because what they are familiar with is easier to label,
Or in a notch be categorized and safely placed...
Only validates with certainty,
Something has been created with originality.
And 'however' it is depicted does not dim its glow one bit.
Even standing alone,
It manages to produce its own radiance.

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Thomas Hardy

At A Bridal

WHEN you paced forth, to wait maternity,
A dream of other offspring held my mind,
Compounded of us twain as Love designed;
Rare forms, that corporate now will never be!

Should I, too, wed as slave to Mode's decree,
And each thus found apart, of false desire,
A stolid line, whom no high aims will fire
As had fired ours could ever have mingled we;

And, grieved that lives so matched should miscompose,
Each mourn the double waste; and question dare
To the Great Dame whence incarnation flows,
Why those high-purposed children never were:
What will she answer? That she does not care
If the race all such sovereign types unknows.

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Dreams

for things that we cannot have
for people that we love but we cannot hug
for the solutions of the problems that we have learned to set aside for a while
for places we wish to go and yet can't take a step beside their shores
for wounds to heal
for things we have forgotten
for our dead ancestors who wish to speak to us again
for some precautions
for our suppressed desires
for those we bury while we are awake
for our escape to fantasy
for our imaginations to run wild chasing rainbows
for our dead love ones
for those who wish to be with us again
for the floating experience on baby pink clouds
marshmallow feelings and black forest cake sweetness
for all these wishes

weary and weak, i close my eyes
and then
i welcome all my dreams

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The Illusion of Gravity

Gravity is an illusion, says the Scientific American
in its issue of November 2005.

Well, then how come that I cannot fly like a bird?

Oh no, smiles Professor Juan Maldacena.
Gravity, he explains, is one of the dimensions of space,
and it might be a holographic phenomenon
caused by the interactions of quantum particles
and fields in a lower-dimensional domain.

It sounds good, professor, but are we closer now to
the understanding of reality than we were last October?
As you know, Newton thought that gravitation
was the attractive force between masses of matter
but Einstein concluded that it resulted from
the warping of space and time by objects that follow
the geometrical curvature of the cosmos.

Now let us change a bit the topic and talk about
evidence. We still do not have the evidence that the sun
will rise tomorrow. Yes, the probability for it is high.
But science is an evidence-based enterprise and we just
don’t have the evidence for tomorrow’s sunrise, have we?
Mind you, chaos, chance or quantum entanglement show
that nature does not care much about laws of causality.

Hi, a bunch of atoms just defied gravity in my room
and jumped to the moon.

Well, class starts at 8: 00 in New York but now
it is already 8: 13, so I am late. Did time cause me being
late? Or maybe it was the traffic. Or perhaps I was late
because I misplaced my briefcase. No problem,
gravity is just an illusion, let us hop to San Francisco,
and I am early.

And now, if you don’t mind,
I have a question: Does your mind create
holographic phenomena? And can we comprehend
the concrete universe through the abstract metaphors
of matter, energy, space, time and gravity?

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No Small Doubt

Satan starts with a small doubt, when its God whos talked about,
Satan takes a well grounded fool, and uses him as a spiritual tool,
One sharpened tool for deceit, for Satan’s goal of spiritual defeat,
As victory through Christ is yours, but, the enemy subtly implores,
That one soul to join the lost, and become an enemy of the Cross.

It may be someone that you know, though a friend, a spiritual foe,
Maybe a family member, or two, who spiritually disagree with you,
They might not even be aware, when used by the prince of the air,
That serpent and the father of lies, going for that spiritual demise,
Of men and women everywhere, who regarding Truth, do not care.

Satan makes inroads all the time, to sway the heart and the mind,
So that they will reject God’s Son, Christ who came for everyone,
From doubt he moves to deceive, and even men, who do believe,
So that their influence for The Lord, upon others, may go ignored,
As Satan uses everybody he can, even those who are Born Again.

With some doubt he brings dismay, causing clouds along the way,
Clouds of darkness and despair, to assert that God does not care,
But not only does The Lord care, He defeated the prince of the air,
Though Satan will lie until the end, he cannot defeat God my friend,
Who alone, can set all men free, as they accept Truth from Calvary.

It is no small doubt my friend, as Satan works to produce your end,
An end that goes beyond the grave, for all who God does not save,
Not because He can’t; He died for all, but, Satan induces mans fall,
Mans enemy in this Age of Grace, so The Truth they won’t embrace,
Inciting doubt, his deceptive breath, moves men to an eternal death.

(Copyright ©08/2008)

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That Which One Wishes

If there is a decay noticed,
That has been allowed to spread...
It has been welcomed.

The power to eliminate,
That which one wishes...
Does not sit around to collect dust.

Those who put up a fuss,
Regarding their circumstances...
Had to greet them or they wouldn't exist!

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Peace And Love For Me Are Forbidden

Peace and love for me
Are forbidden,
I have been entrusted
The national responsibility,
To show my hatred
To the environment,
Which I am rendering
With utmost sincerity and patriotism.

There dwells fear in my eyes
And my feet are prison bound,
I am being kept away
from light and fresh air.
I am an inhabitant of such a city,
As is destined to be ruined.

In my infertile soil
The plant of freedom
Does not deepen its roots.
I am in a condition like at war,
I was born on the saddle of a steed
And I was first fed
With an edge of a sword,
That made my tongue acidic,
I want to sputter it out.

(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)

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We Are All Going To Die/ And It Does Not Matter How Good

WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE/

We are all going to die
And it does not matter how good you are
Or how strong you are
Or how great you are
Or how kind you are
Or how wise you are
Or whatever you are
We are all going to die
And go away forever-

And I walking here
With the pride of my poem
And the pride of my name
And the anguish of what I have done and not done
Will like everyone else
Go away forever-
Whether I have written this poem or not.

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Freedom and Right to Enjoy Life

Shallow are those joys bought on good credit.
And gifts expected to remain treasured forever.
That just does not happen...
When temptations tease to release,
Greed from us.
To toss about a tantrum or two,
Thrown to hook a guilty conscious.
And how can we teach children to be patient,
To receive a success for hard work applied?
When adults are observed crying daily...
About 'things' they can not buy to satisfy,
Whims they don't need but believe they can afford!
Everyone ignores the freedom and right to enjoy life.
It is always someone else's fault why they can not buy it!

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John Bunyan

Of Hell And The Estate of Those Who Perish

hus, having show'd you what I see
Of heaven, I now will tell
You also, after search, what be
The damned wights of hell.

And O, that they who read my lines
Would ponder soberly,
And lay to heart such things betimes
As touch eternity.

The sleepy sinner little thinks
What sorrows will abound
Within him, when upon the brinks
Of Tophet he is found.

Hell is beyond all though a state
So doubtful[10] and forlorn,
So fearful, that none can relate
The pangs that there are born.

God will exclude them utterly
From his most blessed face,
And them involve in misery,
In shame, and in disgrace.

God is the fountain of all bliss,
Of life, of light, and peace;
They then must needs be comfortless
Who are depriv'd of these.

Instead of life, a living death
Will there in all be found.
Dyings will be in every breath,
Thus sorrow will abound.

No light, but darkness here doth dwell;
No peace, but horror strange:
The fearful damning wights[11] of hell
In all will make this change.

To many things the damned's woe
Is liked in the word,
And that because no one can show
The vengeance of the Lord.

Unto a dreadful burning lake,
All on a fiery flame,
Hell is compared, for to make
All understand the same.

A burning lake, a furnace hot,
A burning oven, too,
Must be the portion, share, and lot,
Of those which evil sow.

This plainly shows the burning heat
With which it will oppress
All hearts, and will like burnings eat
Their souls with sore distress.

This burning lake, it is God's wrath
Incensed by the sin
Of those who do reject his path,
And wicked ways walk in.

Which wrath will so perplex all parts
Of body and of soul,
As if up to the very hearts
In burnings they did roll.

Again, to show the stinking state
Of this so sad a case,
Like burning brimstone God doth make
The hidings of his face.

And truly as the steam, and smoke,
And flames of brimstone smell,
To blind the eyes, and stomach choke,
So are the pangs of hell.

To see a sea of brimstone burn,
Who would it not affright?
But they whom God to hell doth turn
Are in most woful plight.

This burning cannot quenched be,
No, not with tears of blood;
No mournful groans in misery
Will here do any good.

O damned men! this is your fate,
The day of grace is done,
Repentance now doth come too late,
Mercy is fled and gone.

Your groans and cries they sooner should
Have sounded in mine ears,
If grace you would have had, or would
Have me regard your tears.

Me you offended with your sin,
Instructions you did slight,
Your sins against my law hath been,
Justice shall have his right.

I gave my Son to do you good,
I gave you space and time
With him to close, which you withstood,
And did with hell combine.

Justice against you now is set,
Which you cannot appease;
Eternal justice doth you let
From either life or ease.

Thus he that to this place doth come
May groan, and sigh, and weep;
But sin hath made that place his home,
And there it will him keep.

Wherefore, hell in another place
Is call'd a prison too,
And all to show the evil case
Of all sin doth undo.

Which prison, with its locks and bars
Of God's lasting decree,
Will hold them fast; O how this mars
All thought of being free!

Out at these brazen bars they may
The saints in glory see;
But this will not their grief allay,
But to them torment be.

Thus they in this infernal cave
Will now be holden fast
From heavenly freedom, though they crave,
Of it they may not taste.

The chains that darkness on them hangs
Still ratt'ling in their ears,
Creates within them heavy pangs,
And still augments their fears.

Thus hopeless of all remedy,
They dyingly do sink
Into the jaws of misery,
And seas of sorrow drink.

For being cop'd[12] on every side
With helplessness and grief,
Headlong into despair they slide
Bereft of all relief.

Therefore this hell is called a pit,
Prepared for those that die
The second death, a term most fit
To show their misery.

A pit that's bottomless is this,
A gulf of grief and woe,
A dungeon which they cannot miss,
That will themselves undo.

Thus without stay they always sink,
Thus fainting still they fail,
Despair they up like water drink,
These prisoners have no bail.

Here meets them now that worm that gnaws,
And plucks their bowels out,
The pit, too, on them shuts her jaws;
This dreadful is, no doubt.

This ghastly worm is guilt for sin,
Which on the conscience feeds,
With vipers' teeth, both sharp and keen,
Whereat it sorely bleeds.

This worm is fed by memory,
Which strictly brings to mind,
All things done in prosperity,
As we in Scripture find.

No word, nor thought, nor act they did,
But now is set in sight,
Not one of them can now be hid,
Memory gives them light.

On which the understanding still
Will judge, and sentence pass,
This kills the mind, and wounds the will,
Alas, alas, alas!

O, conscience is the slaughter shop,
There hangs the axe and knife,
'Tis there the worm makes all things hot,
And wearies out the life.

Here, then, is execution done
On body and on soul;
For conscience will be brib'd of none,
But gives to all their dole.

This worm, 'tis said, shall never die,
But in the belly be
Of all that in the flames shall lie,
O dreadful sight to see!

This worm now needs must in them live,
For sin will still be there,
And guilt, for God will not forgive,
Nor Christ their burden bear.

But take from them all help and stay,
And leave them to despair,
Which feeds upon them night and day,
This is the damned's share.

Now will confusion so possess
These monuments of ire,
And so confound them with distress,
And trouble their desire.

That what to think, or what to do,
Or where to lay their head,
They know not; 'tis the damned's woe
To live, and yet be dead.

These cast-aways would fain have life,
But know, they never shall,
They would forget their dreadful plight,
But that sticks fast'st of all.

God, Christ, and heaven, they know are best,
Yet dare not on them think,
The saints they know in joys do rest,
While they their tears do drink.

They cry alas, but all in vain,
They stick fast in the mire,
They would be rid of present pain,
Yet set themselves on fire.

Darkness is their perplexity,
Yet do they hate the light,
They always see their misery,
Yet are themselves all night.

They are all dead, yet live they do,
Yet neither live nor die.
They die to weal, and live to woe,
This is their misery.

Amidst all this so great a scare
That here I do relate,
Another falleth to their share
In this their sad estate.

The legions of infernal fiends
Then with them needs must be,
A just reward for all their pains,
This they shall feel and see.

With yellings, howlings, shrieks, and cries,
And other doleful noise,
With trembling hearts and failing eyes,
These are their hellish joys.

These angels black they would obey,
And serve with greedy mind,
And take delight to go astray,
That pleasure they might find.

Which pleasure now like poison turns
Their joy to heaviness;
Yea, like the gall of asps it burns,
And doth them sore oppress

Now is the joy they lived in
All turned to brinish tears,
And resolute attempts to sin
Turn'd into hellish fears.

The floods run trickling down their face,
Their hearts do prick and ache,
While they lament their woful case,
Their loins totter and shake.

O wetted cheeks, with bleared eyes,
How fully do you show
The pangs that in their bosom lies,
And grief they undergo!

Their dolour in their bitterness
So greatly they bemoan,
That hell itself this to express
Doth echo with their groan.

Thus broiling on the burning grates,
They now to wailing go,
And say of those unhappy fates
That did them thus undo.

Alas, my grief! hard hap had I
Those dolours here to find,
A living death, in hell I lie,
Involv'd with grief of mind.

I once was fair for light and grace,
My days were long and good;
I lived in a blessed place
Where was most heav'nly food.

But wretch I am, I slighted life,
I chose in death to live;
O, for these days now, if I might,
Ten thousand worlds would give.

What time had I to pray and read,
What time to hear the word!
What means to help me at my need,
Did God to me afford!

Examples, too, of piety
I every day did see,
But they abuse and slight did I,
O, woe be unto me.

I now remember how my friend
Reproved me of vice,
And bid me mind my latter end,
Both once, and twice, and thrice.

But O, deluded man, I did
My back upon him turn;
Eternal life I did not heed,
For which I now do mourn.

Ah, golden time, I did thee spend
In sin and idleness,
Ah, health and wealth, I did you lend
To bring me to distress.

My feet to evil I let run,
And tongue of folly talk;
My eyes to vanity hath gone,
Thus did I vainly walk.

I did as greatly toil and strain
Myself with sin to please,
As if that everlasting grain
Could have been found in these.

But nothing, nothing have I found
But weeping, and alas,
And sorrow, which doth now surround
Me, and augment my cross.

Ah, bleeding conscience, how did I
Thee check when thou didst tell
Me of my faults, for which I lie
Dead while I live in hell.

I took thee for some peevish foe,
When thou didst me accuse,
Therefore I did thee buffet so,
And counsel did refuse.

Thou often didst me tidings bring,
How God did me dislike,
Because I took delight in sin,
But I thy news did slight.

Ah, Mind, why didst thou do those things
That now do work my woe?
Ah, Will, why was thou thus inclin'd
Me ever to undo?

My senses, how were you beguil'd
When you said sin was good?
It hath in all parts me defil'd,
And drown'd me like a flood.

Ah, that I now a being have,
In sorrow and in pain;
Mother, would you had been my grave,
But this I wish in vain.

Had I been made a cockatrice,
A toad, or such-like thing;[13]
Yea, had I been made snow or ice,
Then had I had no sin;

A block, a stock, a stone, or clot,
Is happier than I;
For they know neither cold nor hot,
To live nor yet to die.

I envy now the happiness
Of those that are in light,
I hate the very name of bliss,
'Cause I have there no right.

I grieve to see that others are
In glory, life, and well,
Without all fear, or dread, or care,
While I am racked in hell.

Thus will these souls with watery eyes,
And hacking of their teeth,
With wringing hands, and fearful cries,
Expostulate their grief.

O set their teeth they will, and gnash,
And gnaw for very pain,
While as with scorpions God doth lash
Them for their life so vain.

Again, still as they in this muse,
Are feeding on the fire,
To mind there comes yet other news,
To screw their torments higher.

Which is the length of this estate,
Where they at present lie;
Which in a word I thus relate,
'Tis to eternity.

This thought now is so firmly fix'd
In all that comes to mind,
And also is so strongly mix'd
With wrath of every kind.

So that whatever they do know,
Or see, or think, or feel,
For ever still doth strike them through
As with a bar of steel.

For EVER shineth in the fire,
EVER is on the chains;
'Tis also in the pit of ire,
And tastes in all their pains.

For ever separate from God,
From peace, and life, and rest;
For ever underneath the rod
That vengeance liketh best.

O ever, ever, this will drown'd
Them quite and make them cry,
We never shall get o'er thy bound,
O, great eternity!

They sooner now the stars may count
Than lose these dismal bands;
Or see to what the motes[14] among
Or number up the sands.

Then see an end of this their woe,
Which now for sin they have;
O wantons, take heed what you do,
Sin will you never save.

They sooner may drink up the sea,
Than shake off these their fears;
Or make another in one day
As big with brinish tears;

Than put an end to misery,
In which they now do roar,
Or help themselves; no, they must cry,
Alas, for evermore.

When years by thousands on a heap
Are passed o'er their head;
Yet still the fruits of sin they reap
Among the ghostly dead.

Yea, when they have time out of mind
Be in this case so ill,
For EVER, EVER is behind[15]
Yet for them to fulfill.

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You and I are poorer.

Which wife is nobler than
Who hire maids to feed her spouse
So that he does not stray out?
Which maid is abler than
Who bears seeds of the lord
To give her spouse a high breed?
Which husband is higher than
Who overlooks incest relations
So that his spouse is free off scandals?
You and I are poorer.
19.08.2007

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