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I guess that my life has been a series of flukes in the record business. The first thing I ever did was the biggest record that I'll ever have.

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Song.—Oh, long enough my life has been

Oh! long enough my life has been,
Since I thy love have known;
I would not change the pleasing scene,
And find its beauties flown.

Then let me die, while yet no care
Has reached my trusting breast;
While sorrow is a stranger there,
And all is joy and rest.

Let me not feel what varied pain
Life's theatre can show—
That all our present hours are vain,
And all our future woe!

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My Life Has Been Unleavened Bread

My life has been
what it has been.
It was whatever it was.
I am that which I am.

There were times of intensity
purpose disciplined focus
faith belief vision especially
late teenage increasingly
in supposedly mature years.
Years of serious contemplation.

There were broken times
utter hopelessness
disorientation depressions
fear apathy especially
in early childhood in sad bad
times in veins of bitter years.

But God was never indifferent
watching waiting patient
as life lesson knowledge wisdom
was hammered home
in schools of hard taught knocks.
God was patient with me
as God said he would be.

Faith may have been broken
gone at times years but
ever reborn in converting
casting off of skins
of former mind lives
in growing molding

transformations ability
the scribe has yet to run
the remainder of good race.
Those that endure to the end
will as the bride of Christ
be invited into the wedding

feast of the lamb in heaven
bodies souls rise unleavened bread.

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Henry David Thoreau

My Life Has Been The Poem

My life has been the poem
I would have writ,
But I could not both live
and utter it.

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My Life Has Been Saved

This is where we are today
People going separate ways
This is the way things are now
In disarray
I read it in the papers
Theres death on every page
Oh lord, I thank the lord above
My life has been saved
Here we go, telling lies
Here we go
Were right back where we started from
People going separate ways
This is the way things are now
In disarray
I read it in the papers
Theres death on every page
Oh lord, I thank you from above
My life has been saved
My life, my life has been saved
My life, my life, my life has been saved

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Once The Living Of Life Has Been Given More Respect

One doesn't necessarily,
Have to come to appreciate life...
By being knocked off one's feet,
During a bout with reality.
With a looking at the ground closely.
And from a different perspective.
To come to realize the ground is solid!
And extremely supportive.

Humbling although it may be,
To uncover this awakening experience...
Many have discovered it is the best way,
To eliminate delusions much quicker.
With some finding it very beneficial,
To learn truth and honesty...
Ultimately pays sweet dividends.
Once the living of life has been given more respect.

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Seeking Attention of That Kind Has Been Fed

I don't expect your praise.
In fact...
I don't expect you to acknowleged anything I do.
I am not on that mission.
Seeking attention of that kind has been fed.
However...
What I do expect,
Is a clue you know something about self respect.
And so far I suspect,
We both have become disappointed.

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You Will Know When It Has Been Discovered

I can not award you confirmation...
Of who it is you are.
With an identity felt.
Connected to an adjoining dignity.

I've never had the experience,
Of living with such emptiness inside of me.
I've been blessed to know who it is I am.
With a testing that is done daily,
By those who refuse to accept...
Nothing I do that appears on the surface,
Is not without its depth!

I can not award you confirmation...
Of who it is you are.
With an identity felt.
Connected to an adjoining dignity.

That you will have to determine for yourself.
And you will know when it has been discovered.
When few will accept,
The strength reflected you project.

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When a Child Has Been Told

When a child has been told
Never shed a tear

The small child can only
Every bow their head in fear
And hope and pray they
Don't come back to silence them
They often live in fear

They learn not to cry

When a child has been told
Keep a secret

For if they do they will be punished
For telling lies
They bow their head in fear
Hoping they will not
Come back and take their life

They learn not to speak

When a child has been told
Close your eyes

All they can do is tremble
As the touch of evil hands
Slowly destroys their soul
Never to burn again

They learn not to care

When a child has been told
No one really care's

They sit alone and ponder
Will anyone believe?
If I just spoke
If I just shed a tear
Will anyone really care?

They learn not to feel

All I ask of you now
Is let them speak
Let them cry

Because it means they are alive

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The Bottom Has Been Knocked Out

I've given to you all that I am.
And still you're talking,
To find a fault.

I've given to you all that I can.
And still you're threatening,
From me to walk.

And I don't know,
What it is I've done.
And...
I don't know,
What it is I should...
Overcome.

There is no more from me I can give.
'Cause...
The bottom has been knocked out.

And...
I don't know,
What it is I've done.
And...
I don't know,
What it is I should...
Overcome.

I've given to you all that I am.
And still you're talking,
To find a fault.

I've given to you all that I can.
And still you're threatening,
From me to walk.

And I don't know,
What it is I've done.
And...
I don't know,
What it is I should...
Overcome.

'Cause...
The bottom has been knocked out,
Of my heart.
The bottom has been knocked out.

And...
I don't know,
What it is I've done.
And...
I don't know,
What it is I should...
Overcome.

There is no more from me I can give,
'Cause...
The bottom has been knocked out.
No...
There is no more from me I can give,
'Cause...
The bottom has been knocked out,
Of my heart.
There is no more from me I can give.

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Making the best of things is... a damn poor way of dealing with them. My whole life has been a series of escapes from that quicksand.

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Each Day Lived Has Been a Dream

Why do you wish to know,
What will happen tomorrow?
You are not living today,
To appreciate what tomorrow brings.

Each day lived has been a dream.
A wish often disregarded.
And you were not prepared to start,
To fulfill your desires...
Or take part.

Each day lived has been a dream.
If your heart is not in it...
Tomorrow will come and go.
And you will not realize,
Or know you have benefitted...
And grow.

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Helping Hands

these hands
these so sore helping hands
and these eyes
seeing through all the black and white,
a monovision more incommon than not,
these hands like talons ripping as fast they can
fish
trapped inside
the barrel
as he cocks his wrist,
that tiny gap of silent air
and in an instant these fish know they're goners,
full of holes
that what this life of mine has been like...
a great tapestry to the biggest moths
and the kindest spiders
as well as the coldest eyes
and the softest hands
however these hands,
rough and dry
witnessed it all first hand
and then the other.

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A Day Is Ending and Nothing Has Been Done

A day is ending
And nothing has been done
It is possible to try and rush
But perhaps it is better to give a day to nothingness
So many days have already been given to nothingness
And perhaps all the days will one day be given to it-

A day is ending
No work has been done
There was time
So much time
And all of it was wasted-

One day into nothing
Perhaps the next day
Fueled by guilt
Will be work for more than one day
Perhaps -

The day is ending
And a poem has been written about the nothingness of this day
A day in which one small poem has been written
And one thing has been done.

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Earn Happiness, Get tuned to the fact 'This too shall pass

This too shall pass
Is the famous adage
And is inscribed on a golden finger ring
Which, when worn
Changes the mood of the person
He/she turns sad, if happy before wearing
He/she turns joyful, if in sorrow before wearing

The requirement is that
The wearer should read the inscription

Message is simple
And telling great many things
It says
Things are changing and always
Are in a passing mode to another phase

Examine your life
It should be having
Enough number of samples
Depicting this message

Your entire life has been
Only a passing of events
The day you were born
Was celebrated and it passed
You were a kid and brought
Happiness and joy to your elders
And those days to passed
Milestones in your life
Whether celebrated, suffered, or mourned
All passed

Events which were pleasant at the time of its occurrence
Turned otherwise with the change in time
And similarly sad events
Had reasons for your joy later

Do not get stuck to an emotional impact
Of an occurrence
As the same event
Will make you feel totally otherwise
As time passes

Check your emotions
Do not overindulge any emotion
Understand that
Over a period of time
Things shape up

Nurse in you a positive approach
And train your intelligence to be confident
That things occurred are for good only
If they are otherwise
They are bound to turn in your favour later

Earn happiness
By this great schooling that teaches you that
This too shall pass

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Virginity

My mother she had children five and four are dead and gone;
While I, least worthy to survive, persist in living on.
She looks at me, I must confess, sometimes with spite and bitterness.

My mother is three-score and ten, while I am forty-three,
You don't know how it hurts me when we go somewhere to tea,
And people tell her on the sly we look like sisters, she and I.

It hurts to see her secret glee; but most, because it's true.
Sometimes I think she thinks that she looks younger of the two.
Oh as I gently take her arm, how I would love to do her harm!

For ever since I cam from school she put it in my head
I was a weakling and a fool, a "born old maid" she said.
"You'll always stay at home," sighed she, "and keep your Mother company."

Oh pity is a bitter brew; I've drunk it to the lees;
For there is little else to do but do my best to please:
My life has been so little worth I curse the hour she gave me birth.

I curse the hour she gave me breath, who never wished me wife;
My happiest day will be the death of her who gave me life;
I hate her for the life she gave: I hope to dance upon her grave.

She wearing roses in her hat; I wince to hear her say:
"Poor Alice this, poor Alice that," she drains my joy away.
It seems to brace her up that she can pity, pity, pity me.

You'll see us walking in the street, with careful step and slow;
And people often say: "How sweet!" as arm in arm we go.
Like chums we never are apart - yet oh the hatred in my heart!

My chest is weak, and I might be (O God!) the first to go.
For her what triumph that would be - she thinks of it, I know.
To outlive all her kith and kin - how she would glow beneath her skin!

She says she will not make her Will, until she takes to bed;
She little thinks if thoughts could kill, to-morrow she'd be dead. . . .

"Please come to breakfast, Mother dear; Your coffee will be cold I fear."

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For Whittier’s Seventieth Birthday

DECEMBER 17, 1877

I BELIEVE that the copies of verses I've spun,
Like Scheherezade's tales, are a thousand and one;
You remember the story,--those mornings in bed,--
'T was the turn of a copper,--a tale or a head.

A doom like Scheherezade's falls upon me
In a mandate as stern as the Sultan's decree
I'm a florist in verse, and what would people say
If I came to a banquet without my bouquet?

It is trying, no doubt, when the company knows
Just the look and the smell of each lily and rose,
The green of each leaf in the sprigs that I bring,
And the shape of the bunch and the knot of the string.

Yes,--'the style is the man,' and the nib of one's pen
Makes the same mark at twenty, and threescore and ten;
It is so in all matters, if truth may be told;
Let one look at the cast he can tell you the mould.

How we all know each other! no use in disguise;
Through the holes in the mask comes the flash of the eyes;
We can tell by his--somewhat--each one of our tribe,
As we know the old hat which we cannot describe.

Though in Hebrew, in Sanscrit, in Choctaw you write,
Sweet singer who gave us the Voices of Night,
Though in buskin or slipper your song may be shod;
Or the velvety verse that Evangeline trod,

We shall say, 'You can't cheat us,--we know it is you,'
There is one voice like that, but there cannot be two,
Maestro, whose chant like the dulcimer rings
And the woods will be hushed while the nightingale sings.

And he, so serene, so majestic, so true,
Whose temple hypethral the planets shine through,
Let us catch but five words from that mystical pen,
We should know our one sage from all children of men.

And he whose bright image no distance can dim,
Through a hundred disguises we can't mistake him,
Whose play is all earnest, whose wit is the edge
(With a beetle behind) of a sham-splitting wedge.

Do you know whom we send you, Hidalgos of Spain?
Do you know your old friends when you see them again?
Hosea was Sancho! you Dons of Madrid,
But Sancho that wielded the lance of the Cid!

And the wood-thrush of Essex,--you know whom I mean,
Whose song echoes round us while he sits unseen,
Whose heart-throbs of verse through our memories thrill
Like a breath from the wood, like a breeze from the hill,

So fervid, so simple, so loving, so pure,
We hear but one strain and our verdict is sure,--
Thee cannot elude us,--no further we search,--
'T is Holy George Herbert cut loose from his church!

We think it the voice of a seraph that sings,--
Alas! we remember that angels have wings,--
What story is this of the day of his birth?
Let him live to a hundred! we want him on earth!

One life has been paid him (in gold) by the sun;
One account has been squared and another begun;
But he never will die if he lingers below
Till we've paid him in love half the balance we owe!

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Flight

I have always loved the sky and
Dreamed, not only late at night,
Of life beyond our solar system
Elsewhere in the universe so vast-
Some would say that I envision the sky
Under a different light, as
The sun people worship and fantasize
Around which our planet revolves,
Has been brightly blinding and deceptive-
Inside the world of my thoughts as
Others have deemed as delusions-
Casting rays that are fires from hell,
Illuminating the paths I frantically walk
Trying to escape what is real.
Cerulean blue is the sky at night, and
Cobalt blue at sunrise,
Overshadowed by the dimmer light of the moon at twilight,
Adorned with contrasting cumulous clouds at dawn as
Rare shades of blue magically transform to gold as
The evil sunrises, threatening me-
Although I fear the overwhelmingly dazzling rays of the sun
Aiming towards me as a sort of lethal weapon,
I would still make my journey through and across the universal sky
If I only could- inside the fortress of my mind,
I have created my own universe, with a different sun,
People I could trust and who speak a language
Which only they and I could converse and comprehend- while
There would be no sickness, war or evil to fear.
I have no place upon the familiar planet earth.
I was born under a different star-
I have escaped veracity,
I have become a extraordinary nightingale lifting my wings,
Flying beyond the sun, the moon and past Saturn, Venus and beyond-
Inside the world of my apparition, as I soar further
Away from all that terrifies me
I know that a day shall come that I shall arrive
At my new home, in flesh, not only in spirit-
I have always loved the sky, and
I have always lived, in my own way
As a shadow obliterated by massive crowds of
Those who only wish me harm.
The story of how my body and soul
Shall soon survive and find blissful contentment,
Someplace beyond what they can envision
Is one nobody shall ever hear, as
My thoughts have traveled too many light years away –
One day the sun shall burn out and I may return,
After all of earths’ hellions have vanished-though
I shall never be alone, as I have by my side
Those phantasmal beings of my sorcery-
I hear thunder now and the rain begins to fall, and
I cannot see through the black and ominous clouds-
With much disdain my journey must be postponed as
I watch the rain fall into the ocean,
I find myself drowning inside a different ocean-
That is, an ocean of an abundance of tears, which
I have wept, unashamedly knowing that
Nothing is without hope and I deeply believe
I shall become that extraordinary nightingale someday again soon
Ascending upward, when the sky becomes once again
That distinctive shade of cerulean blue-
I can find my place amongst angels or more simply
Amongst the beings inside of my imaginings and be joyful
And with hope that the sun shall not set my dreams afire,
That the rain shall not begin to fall again,
Someday I shall be contented to be alive,
as a strong, brave and immortal being, while
Never a lost soul or a shadow blackened by the nightmares of my past.


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Lana Turner

My life has been a series of emergencies.

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I don't think his life has been in any way disfigured by the film. The film did disclose some difficult facts.

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Still They Protest

A way of life has been completely destroyed!
Their lifestyles from the past,
Vague memories!
And still they protest with others in distress...
Why neighbors wont clean their yards of leaves?
And they are the ones...
With Master and Doctorate degrees!

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