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If you want to investigate, we will be willing to assist.

quote by Zhu Rongji
Added by Lucian Velea
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Conditioned To Request Permission

No need to treat me like an alley cat.
Because you are addicted...
To those rumors that will ruin,
Any happiness we get.

No need to treat me like an alley cat.
Because you are addicted...
To those rumors that will ruin,
Any happiness we get.

Because you are addicted...
To those rumors that will ruin,
The pursuing of the blooming...
We expect and accept,
With any happiness we get.

Oh...
Oh oh,
Why should we be the ones conditioned,
To request permission...
To investigate a picked division.

And whoa,
A oh oh....
Oh,
Why should we be the ones conditioned,
To request permission...
To investigate a picked division.

No need to treat me like an alley cat.
Because you are addicted...
To those rumors that will ruin,
Any happiness we get.

No need to treat me with suspicion,
And live with secret inhabitions.
Why should we accept conditions,
That might invite future division.

Whoa,
A oh oh....
Oh,
Why should we be the ones conditioned,
To request permission...
To investigate a picked division.

No need to treat me like an alley cat.
Because you are addicted...
To those rumors that will ruin,
Any happiness we get.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Assist With Your Giving

Whatever that is that is asked,
And is within one's grasp
Assist in the getting.
Assist with your giving.

If you've got the time and patience,
And look for ways not to waste it
With an enjoyment received,
From that which is given
And from no one kept hidden
Enjoy that which is,
Your life to live.

A heart that is full of desire,
Gives.
A heart that is full of desire.
Inspires as it is.
And that is the life we all should live.

Whatever that is that is asked,
And is within one's grasp
Assist in the getting
Assist with your giving.

A heart that is full of desire,
Gives.
A heart that is full of desire
Inspires as it is.
And that is the life we all should live.

Assist in the getting.
Assist with your giving.
And that's what a life 'lived' is.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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David

My thought, on views of admiration hung,
Intently ravish'd and depriv'd of tongue,
Now darts a while on earth, a while in air,
Here mov'd with praise and mov'd with glory there;
The joys entrancing and the mute surprize
Half fix the blood, and dim the moist'ning eyes;
Pleasure and praise on one another break,
And Exclamation longs at heart to speak;
When thus my Genius, on the work design'd
Awaiting closely, guides the wand'ring mind.

If while thy thanks wou'd in thy lays be wrought,
A bright astonishment involve the thought,
If yet thy temper wou'd attempt to sing,
Another's quill shall imp thy feebler wing;
Behold the name of royal David near,
Behold his musick and his measures here,
Whose harp Devotion in a rapture strung,
And left no state of pious souls unsung.

Him to the wond'ring world but newly shewn,
Celestial poetry pronounc'd her own;
A thousand hopes, on clouds adorn'd with rays,
Bent down their little beauteous forms to gaze;
Fair-blooming Innocence with tender years,
And native Sweetness for the ravish'd ears,
Prepar'd to smile within his early song,
And brought their rivers, groves, and plains along;
Majestick Honour at the palace bred,
Enrob'd in white, embroider'd o'er with red,
Reach'd forth the scepter of her royal state,
His forehead touch'd, and bid his lays be great;
Undaunted Courage deck'd with manly charms,
With waving-azure plumes, and gilded arms,
Displaid the glories, and the toils of fight,
Demanded fame, and call'd him forth to write.
To perfect these the sacred spirit came,
By mild infusion of celestial flame,
And mov'd with dove-like candour in his breast,
And breath'd his graces over all the rest.
Ah! where the daring flights of men aspire
To match his numbers with an equal fire;
In vain they strive to make proud Babel rise,
And with an earth-born labour touch the skies.
While I the glitt'ring page resolve to view,
That will the subject of my lines renew;
The Laurel wreath, my fames imagin'd shade,
Around my beating temples fears to fade;
My fainting fancy trembles on the brink,
And David's God must help or else I sink.

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Parnell
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Aunt Mattie's Quilt

Aunt Mattie bent a thousand times down the long black rows
Then battled with the angry weeds so little seeds could grow
Come summer Mattie pulled the snow from cruel and cutting bolls
She was patient pale and slender and was only eight years old
Round 'n round the spinning wheel beneath Aunt Mattie's boot
She recalled the soil and cotton seeds and summer's hopeful shoots
Two winters spun out summer's threads in rich and creamy folds
And she had a bolt of cotton cloth when she turned ten years old
If we bend and plant the seeds and tame the wicked weeds
If we let the sun and rain assist and simplify our needs
If we follow in the barefoot path of one persistent girl
We'll throw a healing quilt across an ever ailing world
Indigo and lavender made up Aunt Mattie's sky
Remembering her childhood days she made the rustic dye
The hour before the day would end it fed young Mattie's dream
She made indigo and lavender when she turned just fourteen
If we bend and plant the seeds and tame the wicked weeds
If we let the sun and rain assist and simplify our needs
If we follow in the barefoot path of one persistent girl
We'll throw a healing quilt across an ever ailing world
Aunt Mattie bends a thousand times down each patchwork row
Piece by piece and stitch by stitch in fading candle glow
The valley of the shadow cannot call her from her seams
Until finishing her lifetime's work she dies at seventeen
If we bend and plant the seeds and tame the wicked weeds
If we let the sun and rain assist and simplify our needs
If we follow in the barefoot path of one persistent girl
We'll throw a healing quilt across an ever ailing world

song performed by Dixie Chicks
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Rape of the Lock

Part 1

WHAT dire Offence from am'rous Causes springs,
What mighty Contests rise from trivial Things,
I sing -- This Verse to C---, Muse! is due;
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchfafe to view:
Slight is the Subject, but not so the Praise,
If She inspire, and He approve my Lays.
Say what strange Motive, Goddess! cou'd compel
A well-bred Lord t'assault a gentle Belle?
Oh say what stranger Cause, yet unexplor'd,
Cou'd make a gentle Belle reject a Lord?
And dwells such Rage in softest Bosoms then?
And lodge such daring Souls in Little Men?

Sol thro' white Curtains shot a tim'rous Ray,
And op'd those Eyes that must eclipse the Day;
Now Lapdogs give themselves the rowzing Shake,
And sleepless Lovers, just at Twelve, awake:
Thrice rung the Bell, the Slipper knock'd the Ground,
And the press'd Watch return'd a silver Sound.
Belinda still her downy Pillow prest,
Her Guardian Sylph prolong'd the balmy Rest.
'Twas he had summon'd to her silent Bed
The Morning-Dream that hover'd o'er her Head.
A Youth more glitt'ring than a Birth-night Beau,
(That ev'n in Slumber caus'd her Cheek to glow)
Seem'd to her Ear his winning Lips to lay,
And thus in Whispers said, or seem'd to say.

Fairest of Mortals, thou distinguish'd Care
Of thousand bright Inhabitants of Air!
If e'er one Vision touch'd thy infant Thought,
Of all the Nurse and all the Priest have taught,
Of airy Elves by Moonlight Shadows seen,
The silver Token, and the circled Green,
Or Virgins visited by Angel-Pow'rs,
With Golden Crowns and Wreaths of heav'nly Flowers,
Hear and believe! thy own Importance know,
Nor bound thy narrow Views to Things below.
Some secret Truths from Learned Pride conceal'd,
To Maids alone and Children are reveal'd:
What tho' no Credit doubting Wits may give?
The Fair and Innocent shall still believe.
Know then, unnumbered Spirits round thee fly,
The light Militia of the lower Sky;
These, tho' unseen, are ever on the Wing,
Hang o'er the Box, and hover round the Ring.
Think what an Equipage thou hast in Air,
And view with scorn Two Pages and a Chair.

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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The Hymn

Lord, Who, from Thy high position,
See'th the humble politician,
Knoweth all his secret schemes,
Readeth all his inmost dreams,
Hearken, Lord, unto our pleading;
Mark Thou how our hearts are bleeding,
Bleeding for our country's woes,
Caused by our unrighteous foes.

Lord, behold Thy chosen pleading!
Lend Thine aid to frame our laws.
Turn Thou not away unheeding,
Lord, assist the
[Labor]
[Lib'ral]
[Tory]
[Freetra de]
[Dead-fish]
cause.

See our enemies around us,
Seeking ever to confound us,
Seeking in their wickedness
E'er to compass our distress.
With the powers of darkness scheming,
And our Sacred Cause blaspheming.
Lord, let not their works abide.
For we know Thou'rt on our side.

We, the saviours of our nation,
Supplicate on bended knee.
Lord, our trust and consolation

Are in
[Deakin]
[Fisher,]
[Jokook,]
[Forr est,]
[Bill Lyne]

and in Thee.

Lo, as righteous men, we've striven;
But our works are rent and riven
Through our foes' iniquities.
Lord, rebuke our enemies.
Let them be ashamed who doubt us
That they speak vain things about us.

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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All our thoughts and concepts are called up by sense-experiences and have a meaning only in reference to these sense-experiences. On the other hand, however, they are products of the spontaneous activity of our minds they are thus in no wise logical consequences of the contents of these sense-experiences. If, therefore, we wish to grasp the essence of a complex of abstract notions we must for the one part investigate the mutual relationships between the concepts and the assertions made about them for the other, we must investigate how they are related to the experiences.

quote by Albert Einstein
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Other Side Of Life

The atmosphere
On the streets tonight
Is the driving beat
Of the world
The word down here
On the streets tonight
Is the truest music
Youve heard
So take your share
Of the gifts that are there
They all belong to you
And come what may
At the break of each day
We all begin anew once more
We all begin anew
Baby, baby, baby, lets investigate
The other side of life tonight
The lovers and the fighters
And the risks they take
Are on the other side of life tonight
Lets loose our way
Go completely astray
And find ourselves again
You know the only way to get there
Is to take that step
To the other side of life tonight
The atmosphere
On the streets tonight
Is the driving beat
Of the world
The word down here
On the streets tonight
Is the truest music
Youve heard
So take your share
Of the gifts that are there
They all belong to you
And come what may
At the break of each day
We all begin anew once more
We all begin anew
Baby, baby, baby, lets investigate
The other side of life tonight
The lovers and the fighters
And the risks they take
Are on the other side of life tonight
Lets loose our way
Go completely astray
And find ourselves again
You know the only way to get there

[...] Read more

song performed by Moody Blues
Added by Lucian Velea
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Other Side Of Life

(Justin Hayward)
The Atmosphere
On the streets tonight
Is the driving beat
Of the world
The word down here
On the streets tonight
Is the truest music
You've heard
So take your share
Of the gifts that are there
They all belong to you
And come what may
At the break of each day
We all begin anew once more
We all begin anew
Baby, baby, baby, let's investigate
The other side of life tonight
The lovers and the fighters
And the risks they take
Are on the other side of life tonight
Let's lose our way
Go completely astray
And find ourselves again
You know he only way to get there
Is to take that step
To the other side of life tonight
The Atmosphere
On the streets tonight
Is the driving beat
Of the world
The word down here
On the streets tonight
Is the truest music
You've heard
So take your share
Of the gifts that are there
They all belong to you
And come what may
At the break of each day
We all begin anew once more
We all begin anew
Baby, baby, baby, lets investigate
The other side of life tonight
The lovers and the fighters
And the risks they take
Are on the other side of life tonight
Let's lose our way
Go completely astray
And find ourselves again

[...] Read more

song performed by Moody Blues
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lie Still, Little Bottle

Lie still, little bottle, and shake my shaky hand
Black coffees not enough for me, I need a better friend
One pill at the bottom is singing my favorite song
I know I must investigate
I hope that I can sing along
Theres no time for metaphors cried the little pill to me
He said, life is a placebo masquerading as a simile*
Well, I knew that pill was lying
Too gregarious, too nice
But as he walked I had to sing this twice
Lie still, little bottle
Dont twist, it aint twistin time
With every move you make you just disintegrate my ever-troubled mind
Lie still, little bottle, and shake my shaky hand
Black coffees not enough for me, I need a better friend
One pill at the bottom is singing my favorite song
I know I must investigate
I hope that I can sing along
Lie still, little bottle
Lie still
Lie still, little bottle
Lie still
Lie still
Lie still

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Loopholes

It's known and shown,
Those habits grown.

You come too early,
And you...
Announce you can't stay late.
But then,
Every minute you're around...
You hesitate to conversate.

What is it you're wishing?
Should we investigate?
Are you wishing we dish less?
Does this irritate?

You're living a life that's full of loopholes you hold.
You need to lick them quick.
Get rid of those sitting to nitpick.

You're living a life that's full of loopholes you hold.
Let them slip through your lips.
And live a life that benefits.

It's known and shown,
Those habits grown.

What is it you're wishing?
Should we investigate?
Are you wishing we dish less?
Does this irritate?

You're living a life that's full of loopholes you hold.
Let them slip through your lips.
And live a life that benefits.

You're living a life that's full of loopholes you hold.
You need to lick them quick.
Get rid of those sitting to nitpick.

You're living a life that's full of loopholes you hold.
Let them slip through your lips.
And live a life that benefits.

Get rid of those loopholes,
Admit they make you sick!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Investigating Flora

'Twas in scientific circles
That the great Professor Brown
Had a world-wide reputation
As a writer of renown.
He had striven finer feelings
In our natures to implant
By his Treatise on the Morals
Of the Red-eyed Bulldog Ant.
He had hoisted an opponent
Who had trodden unawares
On his "Reasons for Bare Patches
On the Female Native Bears".
So they gave him an appointment
As instructor to a band
Of the most attractive females
To be gathered in the land.
'Twas a "Ladies' Science Circle" --
Just the latest social fad
For the Nicest People only,
And to make their rivals mad.
They were fond of "science rambles"
To the country from the town --
A parade of female beauty
In the leadership of Brown.
They would pick a place for luncheon
And catch beetles on their rugs;
The Professor called 'em "optera" --
They calld 'em "nasty bugs".
Well, the thing was bound to perish
For no lovely woman can
Feel the slightest interest
In a club without a Man --
The Professor hardly counted
He was crazy as a loon,
With a countenance suggestive
Of an elderly baboon.
But the breath of Fate blew on it
With a sharp and sudden blast,
And the "Ladies' Science Circle"
Is a memory of the past.

There were two-and-twenty members,
Mostly young and mostly fair,
Who had made a great excursion
To a place called Dontknowwhere,
At the crossing of Lost River,
On the road to No Man's Land.
There they met an old selector,
With a stockwhip in his hand,
And the sight of so much beauty

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Gutter of Debt

We have terrific news to announce this morning!
According to our 'Get Off Your Ass Index'...
Or as we affectionally have come to call it,
The GOYA! ...'Go-YEAH' for those of you
Who maintain a certain fashion consciousness,
If you will.

It has been brought to our attention the middle class
Has risen above our earlier projections...
And it is now expected we WILL be able to provide
Those ladders to assist those climbing out of the gutter
Of debt after all!
And we want to just say this...
Before we take a break
To enjoy our 3 weeks of a well deserved vacation!

'You JUST had vacations a month ago! '

NO! Not true at all! We had divided into 'Discovery
Committees' to investigate the shopping wars in
Monte Carlo! That report is currently being finalized!
And prior to that...remember there was discussion
Of tainted oysters being served in the bars in Belize?
We want you all to know we are here doing all we can
To make sure that we are not only safe...
But also that our freedom is not jeopardized!
And if there is anyone here NOT freedom conscious...
Let he OR she speak out and let those displeasures
Be known! Anyone? No ruffled feathers,
Means we're all together! Very good.
And now I'd like to address...

(To Be Continued...)

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Middle Eastern Plan To Hijack Commercial Aircraft

Oil Date 1998 and 2000
George H.W. Bush a former President purchases
'The Best Enemies Money Can Buy' skip travels
to Saudi Arabia on behalf of the privately owned
Carlyle Group who are elite 11th largest defense
US contractor but who does Bush meet Bush meet...

In Saudi Arabia George H.W. Bush meets privately
with the Saudi royal family and bin Laden family?

Oil Date January 2001
Bush Administration orders FBI plus intelligence
agencies to 'back off' investigations involving
can't touch that Bush protected bin Laden family
including two of wanted Osama bin Laden's relatives
Abdullah and Omar living in Falls Church next to...

CIA headquarters previous orders protecting bin
Laden family dating back to 1996 frustrating efforts
to investigate al-Qaeda suspects in bin Laden family?

Oil Date Feb 13,2001
Richard Sale UPI Terrorism Correspondent
on trial of bin Laden's al-Qaeda followers
reports infamous National Security Agency
broke bin Laden's encrypted communications
are reading all Osama bin Laden's terror plans...

How does this mesh with wield fact US government
insists that 9/11 attacks had been planned for years
yet Bush keeps ordering zero bin Laden monitoring?

Oil Date May 2001
How bizarre Colin Powell Secretary of State gives
$43 million in aid to Taliban regime reportedly
to assist poor hungry Afghani farmers now starving
since destruction of their opium crop in January
on orders of Taliban regime drug intolerance policy …

Drugs war war on drugs covert money making policy?

Oil Date May 2001 (Smoking Guns)
Richard Armitage Deputy Secretary of State
a former Navy Seal a career covert operative
travels to India on a publicized known tour
meanwhile George Tenet CIA Director quiet
visits Pakistan meets Pakistani leader General...

Pervez Musharraf but but put the pieces together
Richard Armitage possesses Pakistani intelligence

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Piddled In Pits

Beat up and leave negativity,
Where it is.
Don't grieve over it.
Or assist to heal,
Repeated wounds revealed.

Beat up and leave negativity,
Where it is.
Forget it to rid it.
And be very specific.
Or it will just sit...
Watching you get more,
Piddled in pits!
Dawdled and frazzled,
Losing your wits.

No negativity is worth this fit!
Beat it and leave it just where it sits.
And don't assist to heal its wounds.
Shove it until you can dismiss its gloom.

Forget it to rid it.
Don't listen to it insist....
As it leaves you alone piddled in pits!
Dawdled and frazzled,
With a losing of wits.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator

Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!

It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!

Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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The Helping Hand

You benefited my existence.
Revived my inner blissful flame.
With heartfelt intention.
I made it my mission.
To save you from all of your pain.

Trying to assist, remove misery's brand.
Showing the purest, the truest of love.
So I lent you my hand.
The so-called haven of my hand.
the same hand you said fit like a glove.

Slowly unsheathing your sinister knife.
Brought by despair and sick ideas implanted.
Such a reluctant drawn knife.
Bringing panic and fright.
To a mind that was once so enchanted.

Still reluctant, you dig that foul blade in my hand.
For your arm is controlled by the merciless master.
The pain explodes in my hand.
In this pitiful hand.
Good intentions morphed into disaster.

I could tell by your eyes that the plunge of that knife.
Was in fear of emotional growth.
And in my line of sight.
I see by your eyes dimming light.
It was a plague that was cast on us both.

Repair my daggered hand.
We can free ourselves from this curse, from this ailment.
Unite with my hand.
Reclaim the haven of my hand.
Remember before the impalement.

Let me assist, repel misery's brand.
With the purest, the truest of love.
I will lend you my hand.
The promising haven of my hand.
The same hand that still fits like a glove.

Brought back into my existence.
Stirring up the inner blissful flame.
With heartfelt intention.
I'll accomplish my mission.
To save you from all of your pain.

poem by Aaron Lynn
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Eloisa to Abelard

In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a vestal's veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love!--From Abelard it came,
And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.

Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,
Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd.
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies:
O write it not, my hand--the name appears
Already written--wash it out, my tears!
In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.

Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!
Though cold like you, unmov'd, and silent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part,
Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
Nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain.

Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!
Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Led through a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,
There died the best of passions, love and fame.

Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
And is my Abelard less kind than they?
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r;

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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