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I argue that the Talmud is about the constant struggle to understand.

quote by Arthur Hertzberg
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Forward Motion

Whoa-o...Ive been banging my head against the wall
Whoa-o...for so long it seems I knocked it down, yeah it got knocked down
Whoa-o...and the heating bill went through the roof
Whoa-o...and the wall I knocked down was the proof
That my landlord needed to kick me out
I got evicted now Im living on the street
My spirits lifted...oh wait, that wasnt me
Too many turns have turned out to be wrong
This time I learned that, I knew it all along
When car crashes occur
Then Ill be what you were
When I see what I should
When I see that its good (that its good)
To experience the bittersweet
To taste defeat
Then brush my teeth
Experience the bittersweet
To taste defeat
Then brush my teeth
Cause I struggle with forward motion
I struggle with forward motion
We all struggle with forward motion
Cause forward motion is harder than it sounds
Well everytime I gain some ground
I gotta turn myself around again
Its harder than it sounds
Well everytime I gain some ground
I gotta turn myself around again
Whoa-o...Ive been banging my head against the wall
Whoa-o...for so long it seems I got knocked out. yeah, I got knocked out cold
Whoa-o...and the medical bills went through the roof
Whoa-o...and the scar on my head is the proof
That Ill still remember this when I get old
I got evicted now Im living on the street
My spirits lifted...oh wait, that wasnt me
Too many turns have turned out to be wrong
This time I learned that, I knew it all along
When I grasp the concept
Then Ill sleep where you slept
When I know I need help
When I allow myself (allow myself)
To experience the bittersweet
To taste defeat
Then brush your teeth
Experience the bittersweet
To taste defeat
Then brush your teeth
Cause I struggle with forward motion
I struggle with forward motion
We all struggle with forward motion

[...] Read more

song performed by Relient K
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Just Make It Stop

Just make it stop.
The stillness in the air.
The shattered mirror just sitting their.

The hate.
The anger.
Just make it all stop.
I can't take it no more.
The constant ringing upon my ears.
The blood curdling screams I continuously hear.

Just make it stop.
The stillness in the air.
The shattered mirror just sitting their.

The hate.
The anger.
Just make it all stop.
I can't take it no more.
The constant ringing upon my ears.
The blood curdling screams I continuously hear.

Fist flying.
Object Throwing.
Door Slamming.
Here's my pause button.
Cranking up the music and start jamming.
For its my only way out.

Just make it stop.
The stillness in the air.
The shattered mirror just sitting their.

The hate.
The anger
Just make it all stop.
I can't take it no more.
The constant ringing upon my ears.
The blood curdling screams I continuously hear.

Just make it stop.
The stillness in the air.
The shattered mirror just sitting their.

The hate.
The anger.
Just make it all stop.
I can't take it no more.
The constant ringing upon my ears.
The blood curdling screams I continuously hear.

[...] Read more

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Henry And Emma. A Poem.

Upon the Model of The Nut-Brown Maid. To Cloe.

Thou, to whose eyes I bend, at whose command
(Though low my voice, though artless be my hand.
I take the sprightly reed, and sing and play,
Careless of what the censuring world may say;
Bright Cloe! object of my constant vow,
Wilt thou a while unbend thy serious brow?
Wilt thou with pleasure hear thy lover's strains,
And with one heavenly smile o'erpay his pains?
No longer shall the Nut-brown Maid be old,
Though since her youth three hundred years have roll'd:
At thy desire she shall again be raised,
And her reviving charms in lasting verse be praised.

No longer man of woman shall complain,
That he may love and not be loved again;
That we in vain the fickle sex pursue,
Who change the constant lover for the new.
Whatever has been writ, whatever said
Henceforth shall in my verse refuted stand,
Be said to winds, or writ upon the sand:
And while my notes to future times proclaim
Unconquer'd love and ever-during flame,
O, fairest of the sex, be thou my muse;
Deign on my work thy influence to diffuse:
Let me partake the blessings I rehearse,
And grant me love, the just reward of verse.

As beauty's potent queen with every grace
That once was Emma's has adorn'd thy face,
And as her son has to my bosom dealt
That constant flame which faithful Henry felt,
O let the story with thy life agree,
Let men once more the bright example see;
What Emma was to him be thou to me:
Nor send me by thy frown from her I love,
Distant and sad, a banish'd man to rove:
But, oh! with pity long entreated crown
My pains and hopes: and when thou say'st that one
Of all mankind thou lovest, oh! think on me alone.

Where beauteous Isis and her husband Thame
With mingled waves for ever flow the same,
In times of yore an ancient baron lived,
Great gifts bestowed, and great respect received.

When dreadful Edward, with successful care
Led his free Britons to the Gallic war,

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto III

THE ARGUMENT

The Knight and squire's prodigious Flight
To quit th' inchanted Bow'r by Night.
He plods to turn his amorous Suit
T' a Plea in Law, and prosecute
Repairs to Counsel, to advise
'Bout managing the Enterprise;
But first resolves to try by Letter,
And one more fair Address, to get her.

WHO wou'd believe what strange bugbears
Mankind creates itself of fears
That spring like fern, that insect weed,
Equivocally, without seed;
And have no possible foundation,
But merely in th' imagination;
And yet can do more dreadful feats
Than hags, with all their imps and teats
Make more bewitch and haunt themselves
Than all their nurseries of elves?
For fear does things so like a witch,
'Tis hard t' unriddle which is which:
Sets up Communities of senses,
To chop and change intelligences;
As Rosicrucian virtuosos
Can see with ears, and hear with noses;
And when they neither see nor hear,
Have more than both supply'd by fear
That makes 'em in the dark see visions,
And hag themselves with apparitions;
And when their eyes discover least,
Discern the subtlest objects best
Do things not contrary, alone,
To th' course of nature, but its own;
The courage of the bravest daunt,
And turn poltroons as valiant:
For men as resolute appear
With too much as too little fear
And when they're out of hopes of flying,
Will run away from death by dying;
Or turn again to stand it out,
And those they fled, like lions, rout.

This HUDIBRAS had prov'd too true,
Who, by the furies left perdue,
And haunted with detachments, sent
From Marshal Legion's regiment,
Was by a fiend, as counterfeit,
Reliev'd and rescu'd with a cheat;

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Butler
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Jumper

I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend
You could cut ties with all the lies that youve been living in
And if you do not want to see me again I would understand
I would understand
The angry boy a bit too insane
Icing over a secret pain
You know you dont belong
Youre the first to fight
Youre way too loud
Youre the flash of light on a burial shroud
I know somethings wrong
Well everyone I know has got a reason
To say put the past away
I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend
You could cut ties with all the lies that youve been living in
And if you do not want to see me again I would understand
I would understand
Well hes on the table and hes gone to code
And I do not think anyone knows
What theyre doing here
And your friends have left you
Youve been dismissed
I never thought it would come to this
And i, I want you to know
Everyones got to face down the demons
Maybe today
You could put the past away
I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend
You could cut ties with all the lies that youve been living in
And if you do not want to see me again I would understand
I would understand
I would understand
I would understand
I would understand
I would understand
Understand
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Can you put the past away
I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend
I would understand
I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend
I would understand
I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend
And I would understand
I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend
I would understand
I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend
I would understand

song performed by Third Eye Blind
Added by Lucian Velea
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We Understand Each Other

We understand each other
Bull!
You hear some distant drummer play
I think we understand each other
Have you no else to offer?
Poor boy!
I have expenses to defray
I hope we understand each other
We have a problem
Yes, but its not that we
Dont understand each other
Oh brother!
When they say understand
They gotta mean fairyland
For twenty tons of silver
She sold him into stir
And when it gets his freedom back
He throws it away over her
When he says understand
He must mean some other girl
Ill never comprehend
My putrid taste in men
Its not fair I love
Each little hair and he
Dont even care about me
When she says understand
Must mean some other man
Our preconceptions to retain
Were obliged to exclaim
We understand each other
We hear some distant drummer play
Must mean we understand each other
Oh brother!
If theres a problem
Well admit it
Not that we dont understand each other
Each other
When they say understand
Its like wendy and peter pan
Have you ever met somebody
More self-involved than he?
This has got to be a miracle
The man has divine empathy
What could be wrong with me?
I know his repartee
Insincere
Hes down
There, Im up here
But whenever hes near
Its some kind of divine empathy

[...] Read more

song performed by Todd Rundgren
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Raschi In Prague

Raschi of Troyes, the Moon of Israel,
The authoritative Talmudist, returned
From his wide wanderings under many skies,
To all the synagogues of the Orient,
Through Spain and Italy, the isles of Greece,
Beautiful, dolorous, sacred Palestine,
Dead, obelisked Egypt, floral, musk-breathed Persia,
Laughing with bloom, across the Caucasus,
The interminable sameness of bare steppes,
Through dark luxuriance of Bohemian woods,
And issuing on the broad, bright Moldau vale,
Entered the gates of Prague. Here, too, his fame,
Being winged, preceded him. His people swarmed
Like bees to gather the rich honey-dew
Of learning from his lips. Amazement filled
All eyes beholding him. No hoary sage,
He who had sat in Egypt at the feet
Of Moses ben-Maimuni, called him friend;
Raschi the scholiast, poet, and physician,
Who bore the ponderous Bible's storied wisdom,
The Mischna's tangled lore at tip of tongue,
Light as a garland on a lance, appeared
In the just-ripened glory of a man.
From his clear eye youth flamed magnificent;
Force, masked by grace, moved in his balanced frame;
An intellectual, virile beauty reigned
Dominant on domed brow, on fine, firm lips,
An eagle profile cut in gilded bronze,
Strong, delicate as a head upon a coin,
While, as an aureole crowns a burning lamp,
Above all beauty of the body and brain
Shone beauty of a soul benign with love.
Even as a tawny flock of huddled sheep,
Grazing each other's heels, urged by one will,
With bleat and baa following the wether's lead,
Or the wise shepherd, so o'er the Moldau bridge
Trotted the throng of yellow-caftaned Jews,
Chattering, hustling, shuffling. At their head
Marched Rabbi Jochanan ben-Eleazar,
High priest in Prague, oldest and most revered,
To greet the star of Israel. As a father
Yearns toward his son, so toward the noble Raschi
Leapt at first sight the patriarch's fresh old heart.
'My home be thine in Prague! Be thou my son,
Who have no offspring save one simple girl.
See, glorious youth, who dost renew the days
Of David and of Samuel, early graced
With God's anointing oil, how Israel
Delights to honor who hath honored him.'
Then Raschi, though he felt a ball of fire

[...] Read more

poem by Emma Lazarus
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They don't understand

They don't understand,
What its like to be me.
They don't understand,
Why school is hard for me.
They don't understand,
Why I'm so skinny.
They don't understand,
Why I have no friends.

They don't understand,
What I need.
They don't understand,
Why I lie.
They don't understand,
Why life is hard.
They don't understand,
What life is like for me.
They don't understand,
Why I hurt.
They don't understand,
Why I have fears.
They don't understand,
Why I'm different.

I don't understand,
Why they don't like me.
I don't understand,
Why they don't except me.
I don't understand,
What they say.
I don't understand,
Why they don't undersatnd,
Me...

poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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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
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Don't

Don't!
Don't... don't you wish we tried?
Do you feel what I feel inside?
You know our love is stronger than pride... oh
No don't... don't let your anger grow
Just tell me what you need me to know
Please talk to me, don't close the door
Hmmm, 'cause I wanna hear you
I wanna be near you
[Chorus]
Don't fight, don't argue
Give me the chance to say that I'm sorry
Just let me love you
Don't turn me away
Don't tell me to go
Don't!... Don't give up on trust
Don't give up on me, on us
If we could just hold on long enough
Hmmm, we can do it
we'll get through it
[Chorus]
Don't fight, don't argue
Just give me the chance to say that I'm sorry
Just let me love you
Don't turn me away, don't tell me to go
Don't pretend that it's okay
Things won't get better that way
Don't do something you might regret someday...
Don't!
[dobro solo, instrumental]
Don't give up on me
Hmm, Don't!
(We can do it) We'll get through it
[Chorus]
Don't fight, don't argue
Just give me the chance to say that I'm sorry
Just let me love you
Don't turn me away, don't tell me to go
Don't! (Don't fight dont argue)
Don't give up on me
(Give me the chance to say that I'm sorry)
Say that that I'm sorry
(Just let me love you)
Don't give up on me
(Don't turn me away)
Don't tell me to go
Don't!
(Don't fight don't argue)
Don't give up on me
(Give me the chance to say that I'm sorry)

[...] Read more

song performed by Shania Twain
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fingertips

Everything is catching
Yes, everything is catching on fire
(everythings catching on fire)
Everything is catching on fire (everythings catching on fire)
Fingertips
Fingertips
Fingertips
I hear the wind blow
I hear the wind blow
It seems to say, hello, hello,
Im the one who loves you so.
Hey now everybody now
Hey now everybody
Hey now everybody now
Whos that standing out my window?
I found a new friend
Underneath my pillow
Come on and wreck my car (come on)
Come on and wreck my car (come on)
Come on and wreck my car (come on)
Come on and wreck my car (come on)
Arent you the guy who hit me in the eye?
Arent you the guy who hit me in the eye?
Please pass the milk, please
Please pass the milk, please
Please pass the milk, please
Leave me alone, leave me alone
Whos knocking on the wall?
All alone all alone
All by myself
Whats that blue thing doing here?
Something grabbed ahold of my hand
I didnt know what had my hand
But thats when all my troubles began
I dont understand you (I dont understand you)
I just dont understand you (I dont understand you)
I dont understand the things you say
I cant understand a single word
I dont understand you (I dont understand you)
I just dont understand you (I dont understand you)
I cannot understand you (I dont understand you)
I dont understand you (I dont understand you)
I heard a sound, I turned around
I turned around to find the thing
That made the sound
Mysterious whisper
Mysterious whisper
Mysterious whisper
Mysterious whisper
The day that love came to play

[...] Read more

song performed by They Might Be Giants
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Don Pedrillo

Not a lad in Saragossa
Nobler-featured, haughtier-tempered,
Than the Alcalde's youthful grandson,
Donna Clara's boy Pedrillo.

Handsome as the Prince of Evil,
And devout as St. Ignatius.
Deft at fence, unmatched with zither,
Miniature of knightly virtues.

Truly an unfailing blessing
To his pious, widowed mother,
To the beautiful, lone matron
Who forswore the world to rear him.

For her beauty hath but ripened
In such wise as the pomegranate
Putteth by her crown of blossoms,
For her richer crown of fruitage.

Still her hand is claimed and courted,
Still she spurns her proudest suitors,
Doting on a phantom passion,
And upon her boy Pedrillo.

Like a saint lives Donna Clara,
First at matins, last at vespers,
Half her fortune she expendeth
Buying masses for the needy.

Visiting the poor afflicted,
Infinite is her compassion,
Scorning not the Moorish beggar,
Nor the wretched Jew despising.

And-a scandal to the faithful,
E'en she hath been known to welcome
To her castle the young Rabbi,
Offering to his tribe her bounty.

Rarely hath he crossed the threshold,
Yet the thought that he hath crossed it,
Burns like poison in the marrow
Of the zealous youth Pedrillo.

By the blessed Saint Iago,
He hath vowed immortal hatred
To these circumcised intruders
Who pollute the soil of Spaniards.

[...] Read more

poem by Emma Lazarus
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The Treasure Of Abram

I.
IN the old Rabbinical stories,
So old they might well be true,—
The sacred tales of the Talmud,
That David and Solomon knew,—
There is one of the Father Abram,
The greatest of Heber's race,
The mustard-seed of Judea
That filled the holy place.
'Tis said that the fiery heaven
His eye was first to read,
Till planets were gods no longer,
But helps for the human need;
He taught his simple people
The scope of eternal law
That swayed at once the fleecy cloud
And the circling suns they saw.
But the rude Chaldean peasants
Uprose against the seer,
And drave him forth—else never came
This Talmud legend here.
With Sarah his wife, and his servants,
Whom he ruled with potent hand,
The Patriarch planted his vineyards
In the Canaanitish land;
With his wife—the sterile, but lovely,
The fame of whose beauty grew
Till there was no land in Asia
But tales of the treasure knew.
In his lore the sage lived—learning
High thought from the starlit skies;
Bat heedful, too, of the light at home,
And the danger of wistful eyes;
Till the famine fell on his corn-fields,
And sent him forth again,
To seek for a home in Egypt,—
The laud of the amorous men.

II.
Long and rich is the caravan that halts at Egypt's gate,
While duty full the stranger pays on lowing herd and freight.
Full keen the scrutiny of those who note the heavy dues;
From weanling foal to cumbrous wain, no chance of gain they lose.

But fair the search—no wealth concealed; while rich the gifts they take
From Abram's hand, till care has ceased, and formal quest they make.
They pass the droves and laden teams, the weighted slaves are past,
And Abram doubles still the gifts; one wain—his own—is last—
It goes unsearched! Wise Abram smiles, though dearly stemmed the quest;

[...] Read more

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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How Can It Hurt

(music: marillion lyrics: steve hogarth)
Maybe youre just too upset inside to give it to me straight
Maybe youve become too angry and too close to crying to say anything I can understand
Or maybe youre just coming in over my head
Maybe youre just too upset inside too upset inside
How can it hurt if I dont understand
How can it hurt if I dont understand
How can it hurt if I dont understand
How can it hurt if I dont understand
Youre never gonna square with me I know so what is there to say?
Theres a million words that we could share tonight
Why do you walk away?
And I could write you off and its over with like a damaged car I cant afford to fix
But everything inside me wants to heal your pain
You wont explain
You wont explain
How can it hurt if I dont understand
How can it hurt if I dont understand
How can it hurt if I dont understand
How can it hurt if I dont understand
How can it hurt, how can it hurt
Well I dont understand
Well I dont understand
Tell me how can it hurt
Well I dont understand
Tell me how can it hurt
Well I dont understand

song performed by Marillion
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Don't Come

You don't come. Your absence is a guillotine. My heart
plummets from the altitude it risked in looking forward
to a day with you outside of time and circumstance, jumps
from the edge of paradise, the flat earth, the back
of a winged horse. You don't come and such
is the nature of love
I go out of the plane not knowing
if I've got a parachute on and my heart
pulls the rip cord to see if there's any salvation in the fall,
any flowers for me in the bag, morning glory
or dandelion seed, or this is just another
mode of acceleration to death. You don't come
and my heart candles without a reserve,
I haven't packed a spare dawn
and though I will make every effort to understand
there's a grave waiting down below like an open mouth
and the void is laughing at the persistent folly
of my believing you would come,
and my fear of not being worthy of love anymore
sends my mendicant self-image out
wandering over thirteenth century Europe like some flagellant
on a pilgrimage of flogging, ribbons of blood running down my back
from salted wounds, and though I know
the expectation and the disappointment are both delusions,
birdshit on the claws of a sphinx, and I will try to be
intelligent and wise about the whole thing,
tugging my heart out like a garbage-scow into deep space
where it will be laced with explosives and scuttled once again,
and I will be awarded another paradoxical brownie-badge
by another scout-master Tibetan rinpoche
for knowing how to survive alone in this empty wilderness,
a tiger of will, a Viking of resolve,
an aging clown without children or laughter, a jester-king
officiating from the throneless butt of his own joke,
a poet with nothing to praise, a painter
with cataracts in the eye and flowers in the sky, I
know there is nothing I can tell myself, no spiritual weed
I can poultice over the vacancy that goes on forever
to draw out the infection from my heart, the gangrene
from the broken pillar of the foolish temple I erected
to serve the goddess in any of her lunar phases,
and though I struggle like a diminished thing to accept my dejection,
to imbibe the toxins from the left tit of the Medusa
while trying not to turn into stone, while trying
not to avert my eyes from this crone-form of the moon, let
Kali drink my blood, in the name of insight, clarity and courage,
good wolf, I know this, too, is delusion, another
projected holograph from the third eye of the pineal gland,
and kick the chair from under
the useless fruit of my head in a noose. Back to earth

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick White
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Golden Legend: III. A Street In Strasburg

Night.
PRINCE HENRY _wandering alone, wrapped in a cloak._

_Prince Henry._ Still is the night. The sound of feet
Has died away from the empty street,
And like an artisan, bending down
His head on his anvil, the dark town
Sleeps, with a slumber deep and sweet.
Sleepless and restless, I alone,
In the dusk and damp of these wails of stone,
Wander and weep in my remorse!

_Crier of the dead (ringing a bell)._ Wake! wake!
All ye that sleep!
Pray for the Dead!
Pray for the Dead!

_Prince Henry._ Hark! with what accents loud and hoarse
This warder on the walls of death
Sends forth the challenge of his breath!
I see the dead that sleep in the grave!
They rise up and their garments wave,
Dimly and spectral, as they rise,
With the light of another world in their eyes!

_Crier of the dead._ Wake! wake!
All ye that sleep!
Pray for the Dead!
Pray for the Dead!

_Prince Henry._ Why for the dead, who are at rest?
Pray for the living, in whose breast
The struggle between right and wrong
Is raging terrible and strong,
As when good angels war with devils!
This is the Master of the Revels,
Who, at Life's flowing feast, proposes
The health of absent friends, and pledges,
Not in bright goblets crowned with roses,
And tinkling as we touch their edges,
But with his dismal, tinkling bell,
That mocks and mimics their funeral knell!

_Crier of the dead._ Wake! wake!
All ye that sleep!
Pray for the Dead!
Pray for the Dead!

_Prince Henry._ Wake not, beloved! be thy sleep
Silent as night is, and as deep!

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Constant Is This Hip Hop And Pop

It is today,
Very constant.
Constant is this hip hop and pop.

And with some added rapping touches...
This phenomenon is not going to stop.
No not very soon.

I'd like to admit I like Tchaikovsky's,
Attitude.
With a little bit of Brahms,
When I'm in that mood.
Move over Beetoven when I'm open to Chopin,
And Mozart too!

I'd like to admit I like Tchaikovsky's,
Attitude.
With a little bit of Brahms,
When I'm in that mood.
Move over Beetoven when I'm open to Chopin,
And Mozart too!

It is today,
Very constant.
Constant is this hip hop and pop.

And with some added rapping touches...
This phenomenon is not going to stop.
No not very soon.

Constant is this hip hop.
And the attitudes.
Constant is this hip hop.
What is one going to do?
Knowing there's no end that stops.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Idle Lives Live to Wander

Idle lives live to wander,
Under discouraged eyes...
Reset to ponder,
Why they choose fits to drift...
In a constant need.
Of wanting to please.

Idle lives live to wander,
Under discouraged eyes...
Why,
There are others who believe...
They live just to be on bended knees.
Begging freely from a 'Deity'.
In a pleading to make easier,
A way of life they accept to breathe.

Idle lives live to wander,
Under discouraged eyes...
Reset to ponder,
Why they choose fits to drift...
In a constant need.
Of wanting to please.

Idle lives live to wander,
In a constant need.
Of wanting to please.

Idle lives live to wander,
In a constant need.
Of wanting to please.

Idle lives live to wander,
In a constant need.
Of wanting to please.

In a constant need.
Of wanting to please.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Something Happened

Something happened
I just don't understand
Something happened
It's making me feel mad
Something happened, you don't hear about
Oh, please that never did before
Something happened
I just don't understand
Something happened
I just don't understand
Something happened
It's making me feel mad, oh
I never saw this on TV
I never read it in no book
ahh
Something happened
I just don't understand
hey, baby, something happened
I just don't understand
something happened
I just don't understand
something happened
I just don't understand
something happened
I just don't understand
something happened
Something happened
I just don't understand
Something happened
It's making me feel mad
I thought I knew a lot of things
but I don't know a thing, oh, oh, oh
Something happened
I just don't understand
The things I hear and see
don't seem the same
The things I touch and feel
are forever changed
I've never felt this way before
and I hope I never do again
Something happened
I don't know why or when
oh, something happened
I just don't understand
something happened
I just don't understand
Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo
something happened
Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo
something happened

[...] Read more

song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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