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I'm going to sleep well tonight knowing that I made the right decision.

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Sleep Well, Little Children

Sleep well, little children
Wherever you are
Tomorrow is christmas
Beneath every star
Soon the snowflakes will fall
And tomorrow youll see
Every wish, one and all
Waiting under the tree
Sleep well, little children
Pleasant dreams through the night
Tomorrow is christmas
All merry and bright
Soon youll hear the bells ring
Time for dreams to come true
As the world wakes to bring
Merry christmas to you

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Pray

I just can't sleep tonight
Knowing that things ain't right
It's in the papers, it's on the TV, it's
everywhere that I go
Children are crying, soldiers are dying,
some people don't have a home
But I know there's sunshine behind that
rain
I know there's good times behind that
pain
Hey, can you tell me how I can make a
change?
I close my eyes and I can see a brighter
day
I close my eyes and pray
I close my eyes and I can see a better
day
I close my eyes and pray
I lose my appetite knowing kids starve
tonight
Am I a sinner, 'cause my dinner is still
on my plate?
Ooh I got a vision to make a difference
And it's starting today'Cause I know there's sunshine behind
that rain
I know there's good times behind that
pain
Can you tell me how I can make a
change?
I close my eyes and I can see a brighter
day
I close my eyes and pray
I close my eyes and I can see a better
day
I close my eyes and pray for the
brokenhearted
I pray for the life not started
I pray for all the ones not breathing
I pray for all the souls in need
I pray, can you give 'em one today?

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On September 11, 2001, we thought we were going to be attacked many, many times between then and now. We haven't been. I believe we had a president who made the right decision at the right time... to put us on offense against terrorists.

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I'm sure that was the right step, even though, formally speaking, it may seem disadvantageous for a president to resign. But, looking into what is happening today and what is going to happen in the future, I think history will show I made the right decision.

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Sleep Thee Well

Sleep well
tonight
my beloved
knowing

I will
never
say goodbye
to you


I am
lucky
I love
you

the beauty
of our
memories
you were

and still
are
always free
to leave


me
but I
still see
you

in
my memory
and mind
we still

make love
with such
beauty
your naked


body
I still
passionately touch
with tenderness

as you
eternally hold me
eternally touch me
as eternally I

drink
in
the taste
of you


No matter
wherever
you could
possibly go...

whoever
you by chance
are momentarily
with I share...

a richer
love
than that
love...


Who wants
to breathe
in the breath
of our being

together
moments
of eternity
immortality?

The vast sea
oceans of sand
winds of time
still whisper of our love.


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Sleep Well My Love

truely sweet dreams to you my love sleep well under the sky above the stars are bright tonight so sleep well under thier light

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Sleep Well

Sleep well my dear
And may you find the morning bright
And may your dreams of fond delight
Entrance you while you slumber.

Sleep well my dear
And may angels dance in fairytales
And ships float by with magic sails
To delight you while you slumber.

Sleep well my dear
And may your cares float clear away
And may you hear me softly say
I love you while you slumber.

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Sleep well

A trade man fails to sleep;
An artist forgets to sleep;
An enemy fears to sleep;
Be content to sleep well.

An insane fail to think;
A criminal forgets to think;
A debtor fears to think.
Be calm to think well.

A blind fails to see;
An idiot forgets to see;
A lazy one shelves to see.
Be open to see well.
05.01.2010
[ inspired by a tamil verse written by m/s T. Shanmugapriya, B.Com. I year, Muthayamma Arts College, Rasipuram, Tamil Nadu ]

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Healing

My precious child, sleep well tonight.
Safe in the knowing of everything right.
Your world is your oyster, and you are its' pearl.
She'll nurture and guide you, as your dreams unfurl.

As your gentle spirit reclaims how to grow,
oceans of angels you'll come to know.
The moon and sun over, with love light your course.
And the stars of your memories, give you your voice.

Be still now my angel,
rest safe in the arms,
of lifes many treasures,
its' joys and its' charms.

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Going to Sleep

You spoke to godly people when awake,
Spreading a joking phrase shall ache;
It burdens the young work, the young,
Who split up in crowds of cells too far-flung.

The sleeping prison fully active brings puzzling
And conscious help, the real abandoning.
It is slavery, work of slaves that comprised
Of felonies and compulsions to be advised.

Going to sleep shadows the young and old,
Water drunk on the night of sleep is when blindfold.
Feed on the babies bringing joy in their sleep,
And like their sleep is ours, we are the deep.

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I Am Going to Sleep

Teeth of flowers, hairnet of dew,
hands of herbs, you, perfect wet nurse,
prepare the earthly sheets for me
and the down quilt of weeded moss.

I am going to sleep, my nurse, put me to bed.
Set a lamp at my headboard;
a constellation; whatever you like;
all are good: lower it a bit.

Leave me alone: you hear the buds breaking through . . .
a celestial foot rocks you from above
and a bird traces a pattern for you

so you'll forget . . . Thank you. Oh, one request:
if he telephones again
tell him not to keep trying for I have left . . .

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Knowing That It's Going On

Behind the wheel I can drive,
With you so close by my side.
And under a star bursting sky...
We ride with a love of life we like,
Undenied and so high!

And knowing that it's going on!

Snacks munched on the scene,
Are more enjoyed while singing.
We've got that happiness 'thing'.
With a zing that sizzles...
And a tingle that rings!

As a bongo looped with the rhythm flows.
To get us popping our fingers to that hip hop beat...
Grooving sounds from the radio.
We bob our heads as the moonlight glows.
And this is how we keep,
Our weekends together sweet.
And knowing that it's going on!

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The Spirit Of Christmas

The star of Bethlehem was shining
Across a Palestinian sky
The Church of the Nativity was crying
And we looked on, who can tell me why?
Where are the wise men when they're wanted?
Nowhere to be seen, like thieves in the night
The desert is drifting every closer
The world won't sleep well tonight
Where did the spirit of Christmas go?
Lost in the desert or covered in snow
Where did the spirit of Christmas go?
If you can find it, please let me know
The shepherds are in the fields sleeping
Waiting for a sign to light up the sky
Heaven is moving ever closer
The promise of a child born on high
Where did the spirit of Christmas go?
Lost in the desert or covered in snow
Where did the spirit of Christmas go?
If you can find it, please let me know
Looking for an answer that escapes me (Love set me free!)
If there is a reason let me know (Whoa!)
Drifting slow through time and space not knowing where we are
How did we ever get this far?
Where did the spirit of Christmas go?
Lost in the desert or covered in snow
Where did the spirit of Christmas go?
If you can find it, please let me know
Where did the spirit of Christmas go?
Lost in the desert or covered in snow
Where did the spirit of Christmas go?
If you can find it, please let me know

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Sleep Well Angel Sweetness

Sleep well angel sweetness
Find your place in dreams
Keep well within your mind
That nothing's as it seams.

This night angel sweetness
You have opened up my eyes
You have changed in form
Beyond the storm and opened up the skies.

Sleep well angel princes
In your kingdom's shade
Keep well within your boundaries
The time allowed to fade.

Sleep well angel dearest
Moon beam maiden of this realm
Keep steady in your hand the dreams
Which keep you steady at the helm.

Sleep well angel sweetness
Find your place within the clouds
Beyond the reach of savage men
Beyond the gathered crowds.

Let us dance beyond the moon
Allow us time to sing
Let us dance upon the moon
Allow us love to bring.

Let us swim the ocean sky
Allow us love to know
Let us fly and never sigh
Above worlds of porcelain snow.

My love for you sweet angel
Knows no boundaries in its kiss
Sleep well angel dearest
Upon a cloud of heavens bliss

Rest your head a moment
Just one moment in descent
Allow us time to kiss the moon
The future, past and present.

Let us swim the ocean sky
See angels dreaming there
Let us swim and never sigh
Run fingers through their hair.

Sleep well angel dearest
Below the clear moon sky
Embrace all it is you fear
Could bring tears to your eyes.

Embrace the day that beckons you
For it is as each moment the birth
And death of all creation.

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Here Comes The Feared Night

Who fears the uncircumcised night
Who walks alone afraid in the dread
Hour of the mourning tune of the night
Who hears the terrible widowed
Sounds of the horrible dip dip deep
In the fright drenched labored breathing
Of the labyrinth of the fearsome night
Why are the bloody sounds of the
Night so serene.So perverse
So bloody silent in the night
Here comes the feared night into
The night where the harbingers of the
Hounds of hell on the earth are loosened
Mayhem reigns in our sacred universe
It seems as if all the devils
Have left hell to sow discord
In the hellish cauldron of the earth
Here comes the universal loathed night
Who gave the night it's blood
Soaked red appareled metal jacket
Why is the godless night
So guilt riddled tonight
How many untraced night birds
Have been swallowed by the night
Who will bury the faithless vagrants
And the not baptized hobos and the
No church going street kids and the
Unblessed call girls who will be
Massacred tonight in the night
What judge dares go in the night
And judge the night for tonight's
Terrors of the mass graves of the night's
Ruinous vengeful lust for their blood
Be afraid tonight of the vendetta of
The night that seeks their young hearts
And sleep well tonight surrounded
By the fierce beasts of the unholy night
That glare at your angelic faced self
In doom circles around your nightmarish
Disturbed God fearing sleeping form on
Your soon to be blood splattered bed

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She's Going Home With Me

(Travis Tritt)
Well I guess you'd call me trouble
I have been most my life
Been black and blue a time or two
'Cause I ain't scared to fight
But I got myself a sweetheart
That stands right by my side
Always around to cool me down
When I get dixie fried
And I know she loves to party
She knows I don't like crowds
But I compromise on Friday nights
And we go paint the town
She turns heads in every club
We hang out in 'til three
But I don't care how much they stare
She's going home with me
She's going home with me tonight
On that you can depend
She's not just some one night stand
That girl's is my best friend
And I don't have to be jealous
Just wait around and see
She don't want nobody else
She's going home with me
Well I used to go out prowlin'
Skirt chasing every night
Sniffing 'round like some ol' hound
Like all you other guys
Until from out of nowhere
She took me by the hand
I found what I'd been looking for
Dog days came to an end
So listen good now fellas
No need to act the fool
I treat her well, no way in hell
That she'd leave me for you
Your come on lines won't sway her
She's happy as can be
She made her choice, forget it boys
She's going home with me
She's going home with me tonight
On that you can depend
She's not just some one night stand
That girl's is my best friend
And I don't have to be jealous
Just wait around and see
She don't want nobody else
She's going home with me
I don't have to get jealous
Just wait around and see
She made her choice, forget it boys
She's going home with me

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Patrick White

Not Again, Tonight, These Fin de Siecle Blues

Not again, tonight, these fin de siecle blues
that subsume all my blossoming overviews
into the mystic specificity of concrete things
I stub my heart against as if I'd just had
a head on collision with the moon. Impact.
Emotional meteor showers, the Virginids, perhaps,
I'm being stoned by my own congenital radiants
as if I were being driven out of somewhere
like an extinct species. Bad memories, lifeboats
that didn't make it back to shore, things I've tried
to mythologize like a shipwreck in coral on the moon.
Subtle childhood fears that run my tongue along
the shadows of their blades, when I was scared and young,
and the words would come out like drops of blood
sliding down the length of the stargrass I grazed upon
alone as now in my high wide starfields.
The same ones that are seeking me out tonight
like a rogue planet that's never quite known
where it's belonged, or with whom, if anyone
or where at all. Looking for an exit sign
in the infinite labyrinth of the nightmare
that's walked me like a shadow through all these years.

Most of the past, a waste of good innocence,
and the people and things I loved about it
I cherish more now than I did back then,
usually wounded irreparably in a way
I would have suffered for them if I could have
in order to have my love of them hurt me less,
given I always thought I was more worthy of the pain,
because more deserving of what they endured
than they were. Maledictions of draconian experience.
Miracle of miracles, I transcended everything so savagely,
it's hard to forgive myself now for ever being a child,
but I try. I put my arms around people when they cry
even frivolously, and offer them a few blue ribbons of wisdom
in exchange for their butter-fingered nooses
and the occasional smile at the antics of a sacred clown
who left his tears painted on a dressing room mirror
as if it had been raining for years without anyone
but himself, a circus of one on tour, getting wet.

I've fallen through more cracks in the earth
than most earthquake zones, whenever the continental plates
of my tectonic skull put their hands together in despair
but couldn't manage prayer as I jumped in on horseback
to save someone's cornerstone, like Rome, whether
I was delusional or not. A few people lit candles in remembrance,
but just as often as the fireflies light their lamps
they blow them out to return to the darkness
as the closest thing to home. I'm inured to the intemperance
of selfishness as well as gratitude. People approach me
with their secret charade, and I cancel myself out
like a circus parade I'm sure is never going to come,
a kid kicked to the curb who's been waiting too long,
and we're both a little estranged by our mutual equilibrium.

Wild parsnip in the drainage ditch boils the flesh and leaves
permanent scars. And when I don't see them as arsonists
and flammable gypsies, I see the poppies as
the blood-soaked rags of solar flares that have staunched
and cauterized the bleeding awhile. Hot knives
applied to the heart's excruciations like a brutal code of mercy
to distract me from the agony of my indifference
to the end of an era of unacknowledged supremacy
as the occult master of mirages on the nightshifts
of intensive care, the terminal ward, desolation row,
a fencing master of scalpels who knew more ways
of cutting the heart out of himself and offering it up
to someone who needed it more for the moment,
thinking they had a better use for it than I ever did.
A poultice of water applied like an oasis to a desert's forehead
until even a corpse could rise up out of the glass-blowing heat
like the inexhaustible amphora of an Aquarian among the stars.

One of the dark jewels of my childhood
in the ashes of a dragon that left me its eyes
by eclipsing mine so I could see
where the black holes were ahead of time
and warn the well-meaning lighthouses that clung to the coast
not to trust their starmaps to get their bearings
or ask for directions from the mentors of the lost and the blind,
but to turn the wheel of life and death loose in a storm
of demonically dispassionate clarities intense enough
to weld diamonds by staring through them
with the ironic compassion of an empty lifeboat
lowered from the deck of an enlightened shipwreck
on the lunar bottom of the Sea of Tranquility
I can weave like a flying carpet of real water
out of the wavelengths of high frequency mirages
like a homoeopathic wolf shaman in shepherd's clothing.

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Patrick White

Wired To Looking For Gardens of Eden

Wired to looking for Gardens of Eden at the wrong end of my dopamines.
Want to move back to the country
and live in a secluded place
you couldn't find unless I led you there.
Want to take pride again
in knowing all the names of the trees and stars and flowers
as if they all lived in the same small community
of intimate immensities that I do
like pebbles on the edge of an avalanche.
Tired of playing Russian roulette with the asteroids.
Want to live somewhere even the animals know
the plants know more about healing than they do.
And it would be great
to have a woman who knows how
to think and feel and make love there with me
to laugh at what a brilliant idiot I am
to know how to make soap out of the sap of flowers
that smell like their names.
Bouncing Bet.
Pride of London.
Lady at the Gate.
I'm not looking for purple noons and honeybees.
I'm not trying to make a big splash like Basho's frog in Walden Pond.
Just want to lie down in the tall yellow grass of a September hillside
and feel like a freshly baked loaf of bread
cooling on a windowsill
like a philosopher's stone
as the sun goes down over the hill
and the dust of many roads
gets in the eyes of my starmaps
like gusts of stars
that makes them water with the wonder
of being here at all to know how lost and homeless I am
even in the depths of the dark womb that first imagined me like water.
I cling like a tree to my lucidities
and I'm rooted in the light
as much as I am the dirt
and I sprout poems and paintings like flowers and leaves
and even when I've been struck by lightning
the dead branch blooms like the moon
and you can hear the drums of silver apples
marshalling at my feet
like a troupe of white-winged horses.
Like the pulse of the windfall
when death first entered the garden
to let me know how alive I am
in this present moment
that has no death or birth in it
no beginnings
no ends
and goes on forever
as the only feature of time
that doesn't need a calendar.
But I'm not waxing Biblical about the brevity of days
and I've always been grateful
that I was born too stupid to be a cynic
and looking up at the stars from anywhere
one of the greatest wonders of life to me
is that so few people are amazed.
They've never listened with their eyes to the night
so that when their eyes speak
they don't understand
the mother language of the light
and the fireflies forget how to talk to the stars
and everybody's looking for an interpreter
to tell them the meaning of things.
They don't know how to enjoy
being alone
with everything they don't understand.
That's why I like New England asters and purple loosestrife.
That's why I like being kept at home by snowbound roads
and unanswerable fires.
I want to sit at a carved picnic table
under a locust tree in the morning
when it's in full bloom
and humming with thousands of bees
and wonder aloud in a poem that's writing me why
whenever you find nectar
there's always thorns
as if my life depended upon it.
I want to approach my material confinement
with the suppleness of water
given that's what I mostly am
and have no fear of spiritual evaporation
after I'm dead
and gone beyond into
the transformative darkness of my original watershed
because I've seen the same thing happening to the shapeshifting stars
that everyone says are fixed.
I am not deceived by appearances
into believing there's any kind of reality behind them
as if a mirage were lying to a desert.
Water's no less of a window
when it reflects the moon on its surface
than it is in the depths of the sea
that grows it like a pearl.
If you can only see with the eye
and not through it
as Blake suggested
then you're inundated with visuals
as impersonal as the camera lens
that follows you through the city
like an upgraded form of state shadow.
But out in the country where no one's watching
but the occasional squirrel
once you let the light in
your seeing isn't just
a phenomenological reaction
to photonic randomness
but a creative response to chaos
that makes images out of visuals
and symbols out of visions
and facts out of purposeless experience
like tiny mouse skulls
and abandoned herons' nests
that don't make a liar
out of your imagination.
I want to live somewhere in peace
without thinking I'm selfish or a coward
to observe the world around me
as if it were the expression
of the beautiful absurdity
of this reclusive artistic discipline
that keeps making me up as it goes along
to fill in the lyrics
of a half-forgotten song
it's singing to itself like water.
I'm tired of the gibbering of the sacred monkeys
who don't know what's holy about life
unless it's washed in blood.
I'm tired of the intrusion of the good and bad
into my solitude
as if the mob
and the government
civilization
culture and education
had a right to homogenize
the taste of life in my mouth.
Not the same.
Not different.
Not exclusive.
Not effacing.
I'm sick of gaming the rackets of life
for my daily bread.
Sick of the maggots
laying claim to the pedigree of butterflies.
Sick of the tapeworms
trying to convince me they're spinal cords
and shoelaces
or downed powerlines that are the envy of cobras.
Sick of never underestimating
the violence and ignorance of humans
without always being right.
Are there ants that go to sleep hungry tonight?
Are there bees in the hive without honey?
Just want to walk out late at night up to a high field
with a broken gate
by myself
or with someone else
that hasn't been closed in years
and delight in going creatively mad under the stars
exalting in the radiance of human eyes
in an exchange of lucidities
that proves we are not strangers to the light
here on earth
or in any other place
where we greet each other like guests without a host
wondering why we are gathered here to ask.
My heart is torn under its own weight
and all my dreamcatchers
have turned into unsustainable spiderwebs
by accumulation.
My soul is the swan of the full moon
unfeathered on dark waters
by a snapping turtle
that keeps rising from its depths like the world.
I've walked so long down this long road on crutches and stilts
it's forgotten the feel of my feet
and all the mystic auroras of my spirit
robe me in meat
and chameleonic anxiety.
Sick of technological progress
that is the equal and opposite reaction
to the devolution
of what's beyond comprehension
into the truth
into wisdom
into knowledge
into facts
into data
into lies
that upstage the myths of the stars
with mutative alibis.
Want to go somewhere I can scream
and the hills will understand the echo.
Want to go somewhere I can look at the spring columbine
growing out of the green moss toupee
on the lichen-covered rock
and not see it covered in the blood of children.
Want to walk out into the darkness
even on a starless night
and feel like a vulnerable mortal
made wary by the innocence of natural dangers
and not the deranged perversities
of ghouls off their meds in the cities.
Want to get away from the maggots and tapeworms
that govern the body politic within and without
like the corrupt flesh of a dead horse
that died of exhaustion
pulling the milkwagon uphill.
Don't want to walk any more roads that turn into quicksand.
Just want to kick my cornerstones like pebbles
down a dusty lane
as if I had all the time in the world
not to explain to anyone
why it seems so crucial
to get the colours of the New England asters right.
And I know it's a dream.
I know it's an illusion.
A mirage of the way I feel.
But sometimes even water
is wounded by this desert
where the only roads are snakes
that make paths in the sand and the stars
and it takes a mirage to heal.
Sometimes it's better
to let yourself be deceived by appearances
to be relieved by the compassion
inherent in the way things seem to the mind
like a cool herb on a severe burn
than go blind.

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The culprit can sleep well.

Charged for corruption, I slept well.
I can influence witnesses, police,
The prosecution and the judgment
Or at least the jailor or his staff.
04.07.2011

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You belong there, you’re out of here anymore

I am glad; you finally found your steps
Carved in Japan
He loves you the moments are there
In every festival that you learn
In the family that you have
Created for yourself
You are happy there
And that is enough
I can sleep well tonight
The stars above my head
And the moon
Give a smile
The wind whispers your name to me
Your name is no longer new
You have always been

Happiness

For the meantime, I shall gather some
Dreams
I have more stories to tell in my sleep.

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