Be moderate in prosperity, prudent in adversity.
quote by Periander
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Prosperity to humanity
Prosperity, prosperity
Prosperity to humanity
I brought to you
Love and solidarity
Peace and harmony
Kings go to war
And humanity fall
But i brought prosperity to humanity
So why then should you curse me
Instead of blessing me
I need you to love me
For it is prosperity
I brought to humanity
It power and glory to humanity
Accountability and transparency
A higher levity
Prosperity, prosperity
Prosperity to humanity
poem by Matt Ancient
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Adversity
Adversity, adversity, how strange is your fate.
To most it’s loss and sorrow compounded by a spate
Of shallow glances, lost chances
Nourishing doubts and fears,
With ignominious ignorance,
Washed down by gushing tears.
For these sad souls adversity is a cruel happenstance.
Even before its advent they were afforded little chance.
Though adversity, intrinsically favors neither side,
Some souls advance… even enhance their dance,
While all others continue their downward slide.
This august group knows adversity by another name.
Adversity and opportunity to them sound much the same.
Travails, trauma, thunder clouds are all ways they learn.
Journeys unclear and dangers near they miss not a turn
In their effort to bestow good fortune they have received
So less fortunate souls may sense what it is to be relieved.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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- quotes about food
- quotes about injury
- quotes about travel
- quotes about fate
- quotes about sadness
- quotes about receiving
- quotes about luck
- quotes about dance
- quotes about sound
I Will Over Come, With Adversity In Full Swing
I will overcome.
With adversity in full swing
I will rewrite it all.
Including who I am.
Destroying the victim
Becoming the savior.
There is just no victim here
Never again.
Listen to me a I scream.
My lungs are exploding.
No more mere whispers.
No more falling on deaf ears.
Killing every once of doubt.
Dedication with greatest sensation.
A fabulous celebration.
I will overcome.
With adversity in full swing
I will rewrite it all.
Including who I am.
Destroying the victim
Becoming the savior.
There is just no victim here
Never again.
My soul burns as never before
This is my new heaven
This is my new hell.
And all I want is more.
An undying hunger as the clock strikes eleven
This is no longer my dirty dusty old shell.
I will overcome.
With adversity in full swing
I will rewrite it all.
Including who I am.
Destroying the victim
Becoming the savior.
There is just no victim here
Never again.
I'm no longer a man in hiding
I am a man now confiding
With every secret we go deeper
The mountain is now getting steeper
So I tie my boot
And I ready my rifle to shoot
I will overcome.
[...] Read more
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Moderate Men and Moderate Measures
Praise to placeless proud ability,
Let the prudent muse disclaim;
And sing the Statesman--all civility--
Whom moderate talents raise to fame.
He, no random projects urging,
Make us wild alarms to feel;
With moderate measures, gently purging
Ills that prey on Britain's weal.
CHORUS.
Gently purging,
Gently purging,
Gently purging Britain's weal.[1]
Addington, with measured motion,
Keep the tenor of thy way;
To glory yield no rash devotion,
Led by luring lights astray;
Splendid talents are deceiving;
Tend to councils much too bold;
Moderate men we prize, believing,
All that glitters is not gold.
GRAND CHORUS.
All that Glisters,
All that Glisters,
All that Glisters is not gold![2]
poem by George Canning
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Cyder: Book II
O Harcourt, Whom th' ingenuous Love of Arts
Has carry'd from Thy native Soil, beyond
Th' eternal Alpine Snows, and now detains
In Italy's waste Realms, how long must we
Lament Thy Absence? Whilst in sweet Sojourn
Thou view'st the Reliques of old Rome; or what,
Unrival'd Authors by their Presence, made
For ever venerable, rural Seats,
Tibur, and Tusculum, or Virgil's Urn
Green with immortal Bays, which haply Thou,
Respecting his great Name, dost now approach
With bended Knee, and strow with purple Flow'rs;
Unmindful of Thy Friends, that ill can brook
This long Delay. At length, Dear Youth, return,
Of Wit, and Judgement ripe in blooming Years,
And Britain's Isle with Latian Knowledge grace.
Return, and let Thy Father's Worth excite
Thirst of Preeminence; see! how the Cause
Of Widows, and of Orphans He asserts
With winning Rhetoric, and well argu'd Law!
Mark well His Footsteps, and, like Him, deserve
Thy Prince's Favour, and Thy Country's Love.
Mean while (altho' the Massic Grape delights
Pregnant of racy Juice, and Formian Hills
Temper Thy Cups, yet) wilt not Thou reject
Thy native Liquors: Lo! for Thee my Mill
Now grinds choice Apples, and the British Vats
O'erflow with generous Cyder; far remote
Accept this Labour, nor despise the Muse,
That, passing Lands, and Seas, on Thee attends.
Thus far of Trees: The pleasing Task remains,
To sing of Wines, and Autumn's blest Increase.
Th' Effects of Art are shewn, yet what avails
'Gainst Heav'n? Oft, notwithstanding all thy Care
To help thy Plants, when the small Fruit'ry seems
Exempt from Ills, an oriental Blast
Disastrous flies, soon as the Hind, fatigu'd,
Unyokes his Team; the tender Freight, unskill'd
To bear the hot Disease, distemper'd pines
In the Year's Prime, the deadly Plague annoys
The wide Inclosure; think not vainly now
To treat thy Neighbours with mellifluous Cups,
Thus disappointed: If the former Years
Exhibit no Supplies, alas! thou must,
With tastless Water wash thy droughty Throat.
A thousand Accidents the Farmer's Hopes
Subvert, or checque; uncertain all his Toil,
[...] Read more
poem by John Arthur Phillips
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- quotes about winter
The Ghost - Book I
With eager search to dart the soul,
Curiously vain, from pole to pole,
And from the planets' wandering spheres
To extort the number of our years,
And whether all those years shall flow
Serenely smooth, and free from woe,
Or rude misfortune shall deform
Our life with one continual storm;
Or if the scene shall motley be.
Alternate joy and misery,
Is a desire which, more or less.
All men must feel, though few confess.
Hence, every place and every age
Affords subsistence to the sage,
Who, free from this world and its cares,
Holds an acquaintance with the stars,
From whom he gains intelligence
Of things to come some ages hence,
Which unto friends, at easy rates.
He readily communicates.
At its first rise, which all agree on,
This noble science was Chaldean;
That ancient people, as they fed
Their flocks upon the mountain's head,
Gazed on the stars, observed their motions,
And suck'd in astrologic notions,
Which they so eagerly pursue,
As folks are apt whate'er is new,
That things below at random rove,
Whilst they're consulting things above;
And when they now so poor were grown,
That they'd no houses of their own,
They made bold with their friends the stars,
And prudently made use of theirs.
To Egypt from Chaldee it travell'd,
And Fate at Memphis was unravell'd:
The exotic science soon struck root,
And flourish'd into high repute.
Each learned priest, oh strange to tell!
Could circles make, and cast a spell;
Could read and write, and taught the nation
The holy art of divination.
Nobles themselves, for at that time
Knowledge in nobles was no crime,
Could talk as learned as the priest,
And prophesy as much, at least.
Hence all the fortune-telling crew,
Whose crafty skill mars Nature's hue,
Who, in vile tatters, with smirch'd face,
Run up and down from place to place,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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I Am But A Small Voice
(r. whittaker/d. batnag)
Akoy munting tinig
May munting pangarap
Samyo ng bulaklak
Sa hanging malinis
May ngiti sa araw
At kung umuulan
Makapagtampisaw
Malayang daigdig
Ng kawalang malay
I am but a small voice
I am but a small dream
The fragrance of a flowr
In the unpolluted air
I am but a small voice
I am but a small dream
To smile upon the sun
Be free to dance and sing
Be free to sing my song to evryone
Chorus:
Come young citizens of the world
We are one, we are one
Come young citizens of the world
We are one, we are one
We have one hope
We have one dream
And with one voice
We sing...
Coda:
Peace, prosperity
And love for all mankind
Peace, prosperity
And love for all mankind
(instrumental)
I am but a small voice
I am but a small dream
To smile upon the sun
Be free to dance and sing
Be free to sing my song to evryone
Come young citizens of the world
We are one, we are one
Come young citizens of the world
We are one, we are one
We have one hope
We have one dream
And with one voice
We sing, we sing
Peace, prosperity
And love for all mankind
Peace, prosperity
[...] Read more
song performed by Lea Salonga
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Love Me (Villanelle)
Love me with sincerity,
with the true feelings in your heart
in times of loss and of prosperity
while our influence linger into posterity
and may our lives never part.
Love me with t sincerity,
as if our words and deeds are more than surety
in truthfulness that is something of an art
in times of loss and of prosperity
and when we are old without any dexterity
may our feelings then last and never depart.
Love me with sincerity
that brings feelings to a kind of clarity,
that daily anew does start
in times of loss and of prosperity.
and may we constantly act in solidarity
as if nothing our affections can thwart.
Love me with sincerity,
in times of loss and of prosperity.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Prosperity Palls
PROSPERITY PALLS
The era of pleasure is over for ever,
prosperity palls, seldom fails to appal.
When seeking some sanity see we should sever
last links with societal sirens that call
after all with fast laughter, considering never
that Man’s many illusions to dust must soon fall,
as dispassionate Death’s thrall not even keen, clever,
can ever avert, all are measured withal.
Vain attempts to escape fate prove empty endeavour
for sooner or later all sleep in Time's shawl.
© Jonathan Robin 9 October 1978 revised 27 September 2008
robi03_0162_robi03_0000 XXX_JZX
for previous version see below
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIII
Prosperity Palls
The era of pleasure is over for ever,
prosperity palls where it does not appal.
When seeking some sanity see, we must sever
last links with Society ’s sirens that call
after all with fast laughter, considering never
that Man’s many illusions to dust must soon fall,
as dispassionate Death’s thrall not even the clever
can ever avert, for he measures us all, -
and attempts to escape him are empty endeavour
for sooner or later all sleep in his shawl!
9 October 1978
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Visionary Truth
(A)
nobody trusts it but the liars say, 'we trust it'
a golden city reappears after 3 years
happiness is gone away already
but the visionary truth is not alone now visually
rains of hope and prosperity call upon life in the motion
(B)
nobody trusts it but the liars say, 'we trust it'
a golden city reappears after 3 years
happiness is gone away already
but the visionary truth is not alone now visually
rains of hope and prosperity call upon life in the motion
(C)
nobody trusts it but the liars say, 'we trust it'
a golden city reappears after 3 years
happiness is gone away already
but the visionary truth is not alone now visually
rains of hope and prosperity call upon life in the motion
(D)
nobody trusts it but the liars say, 'we trust it'
a golden city reappears after 3 years
happiness is gone away already
but the visionary truth is not alone now visually
rains of hope and prosperity call upon life in the motion
(E)
reality becomes reality again
freedom becomes peace
reality becomes reality again
freedom becomes peace
[...] Read more
poem by Nyein Way
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Canto the First
I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.
II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.
III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.
IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.
V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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The Borough. Letter XVII: The Hospital And
Govenors
AN ardent spirit dwells with Christian love,
The eagle's vigour in the pitying dove;
'Tis not enough that we with sorrow sigh,
That we the wants of pleading man supply,
That we in sympathy with sufferers feel,
Nor hear a grief without a wish to heal;
Not these suffice--to sickness, pain, and woe,
The Christian spirit loves with aid to go;
Will not be sought, waits not for want to plead,
But seeks the duty--nay, prevents the need;
Her utmost aid to every ill applies,
And plans relief for coining miseries.
Hence yonder Building rose: on either side
Far stretch'd the wards, all airy, warm, and wide;
And every ward has beds by comfort spread,
And smooth'd for him who suffers on the bed:
There all have kindness, most relief,--for some
Is cure complete,--it is the sufferer's home:
Fevers and chronic ills, corroding pains,
Each accidental mischief man sustains;
Fractures and wounds, and wither'd limbs and lame,
With all that, slow or sudden, vex our frame,
Have here attendance--here the sufferers lie,
(Where love and science every aid apply,)
And heal'd with rapture live, or soothed by comfort
die.
See! one relieved from anguish, and to-day
Allow'd to walk and look an hour away;
Two months confined by fever, frenzy, pain,
He comes abroad and is himself again:
'Twas in the spring, when carried to the place,
The snow fell down and melted in his face.
'Tis summer now; all objects gay and new,
Smiling alike the viewer and the view:
He stops as one unwilling to advance,
Without another and another glance;
With what a pure and simple joy he sees
Those sheep and cattle browsing at their ease;
Easy himself, there's nothing breathes or moves,
But he would cherish--all that lives he loves:
Observing every ward as round he goes,
He thinks what pain, what danger they inclose;
Warm in his wish for all who suffer there,
At every view he meditates a prayer:
No evil counsels in his breast abide,
There joy, and love, and gratitude reside.
The wish that Roman necks in one were found,
That he who form'd the wish might deal the wound,
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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The Rosciad
Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.
Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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Tale XI
ARABELLA.
Of a fair town where Doctor Rack was guide,
His only daughter was the boast and pride -
Wise Arabella, yet not wise alone,
She like a bright and polish'd brilliant shone;
Her father own'd her for his prop and stay,
Able to guide, yet willing to obey;
Pleased with her learning while discourse could
please,
And with her love in languor and disease:
To every mother were her virtues known,
And to their daughters as a pattern shown;
Who in her youth had all that age requires,
And with her prudence all that youth admires:
These odious praises made the damsels try
Not to obtain such merits, but deny;
For, whatsoever wise mammas might say,
To guide a daughter, this was not the way;
From such applause disdain and anger rise,
And envy lives where emulation dies.
In all his strength contends the noble horse
With one who just precedes him on the course,
But when the rival flies too far before,
His spirit fails, and he attempts no more.
This reasoning Maid, above her sex's dread,
Had dared to read, and dared to say she read;
Not the last novel, not the new-born play;
Not the mere trash and scandal of the day;
But (though her young companions felt the shock)
She studied Berkeley, Bacon, Hobbes and Locke:
Her mind within the maze of history dwelt,
And of the moral Muse the beauty felt;
The merits of the Roman page she knew,
And could converse with More and Montague:
Thus she became the wonder of the town,
From that she reap'd, to that she gave renown;
And strangers coming, all were taught t'admire
The learned lady, and the lofty spire.
Thus fame in public fix'd the Maid where all
Might throw their darts, and see the idol fall:
A hundred arrows came with vengeance keen,
From tongues envenom'd, and from arms unseen;
A thousand eyes were fix'd upon the place,
That, if she fell, she might not fly disgrace:
But malice vainly throws the poison'd dart,
Unless our frailty shows the peccant part;
And Arabella still preserved her name
Untouch'd, and shone with undisputed fame;
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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Tale XXI
The Learned Boy
An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants--then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and
hard,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
'Three girls,' the Widow cried, 'a lively three
To govern well--indeed it cannot be.'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it.'--'Sir, you cannot bear;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:'
'That, my kind friend, a father's may supply.'
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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Seven and half years ago I began my own journey. For me and my family it was a time of adversity. But during that adversity I derived a deeper faith. And born out of that adversity was a commitment to devote myself to those people and to those issues that truly matter to me.
quote by Paul Tsongas
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False Ideals
Invented by the human mind
Not knowing what was real
What sort of god lets people die?
Yet still to him you kneel
Only hypocrites and sinners
Feel they have something to gain
And the old, torn and afflicted
Think that he can heal their pain
What is wrong, why can't these people see?
Ask yourself is it truth or blasphemy?
You will find you cannot face adversity
No more time, such insecurity
Born again your conscience clear
You give your life to him
Renounce those who are faithless
Contentment lies within
Worship what you cannot see
Small minds you can distort
Force fed with false ideals
Why believe what you are taught?
What is wrong, why can't these people see?
Ask yourself is it truth or blasphemy?
You will find you cannot face adversity
No more time, such insecurity
So book in hand you stand and preach
Telling us to repent
Something about a promised land
Or eternal torment
Could this be your vocation
Or another mistake
Just deny provocation
>From this nightmare you'll awake
What is wrong, why can't these people see?
Ask yourself is it truth or blasphemy?
You will find you cannot face adversity
No more time, such insecurity
song performed by Xentrix
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False Ideals
Invented by the human mind
Not knowing what was real
What sort of god lets people die?
Yet still to him you kneel
Only hypocrites and sinners
Feel they have something to gain
And the old, torn and afflicted
Think that he can heal their pain
What is wrong, why can't these people see?
Ask yourself is it truth or blasphemy?
You will find you cannot face adversity
No more time, such insecurity
Born again your conscience clear
You give your life to him
Renounce those who are faithless
Contentment lies within
Worship what you cannot see
Small minds you can distort
Force fed with false ideals
Why believe what you are taught?
What is wrong, why can't these people see?
Ask yourself is it truth or blasphemy?
You will find you cannot face adversity
No more time, such insecurity
So book in hand you stand and preach
Telling us to repent
Something about a promised land
Or eternal torment
Could this be your vocation
Or another mistake
Just deny provocation
>From this nightmare you'll awake
What is wrong, why can't these people see?
Ask yourself is it truth or blasphemy?
You will find you cannot face adversity
No more time, such insecurity
song performed by Xentrix
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Future Watch Burma To Syria Conflicts Rising
been watching
the future today...
from past lens astray
Burma as expected
has developed
ethnic problems
with sudden absence
of strict communist
dictatorship firm leash
Burmese are no longer
all brother communists
controlled by the state
past civic grievances
rise from postmortem
state of frozen stasis
past horrors play
on revenge rabid minds
need exercising?
past spectre struggles
post World War II conflicts
leave skeletons in closets
frozen nightmares divisions
war atrocities split Yugoslavia
post familiar communist thaw
emotively haunted people
seem to need to grim settle
past trauma before each
can move on embrace
future possibilities opportunities
in free market societies
when no longer linked
in brotherhood communist
cast iron citizenships
emotively many people
seem to need to settle
the past before they can
move on
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Adversity is sometimes hard upon a man but for one man who can stand prosperity, there are a hundred that will stand adversity.
quote by Thomas Carlyle
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