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Carmen Sylva

Friendship based solely upon gratitude is like a photograph: with time it fades.

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She Really, Truly and Immortally Loved you

When you possessed the most wealth in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely because of the lure of forever and ever and ever; leading a majestically luxurious and opulent life,

When you possessed the most impregnably conspicuous muscles in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely because they knew that there was none other than you; who could protect them from even the most diabolical of catastrophe,

When you possessed the most inimitably gifted sense of humor in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely because they perennially wanted to be unabashedly tickled in their funny bone; even when uncontrollable mayhem reigned supreme upon the planet divine,

When you possessed most rare gift of magical clairvoyance in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely because they thought they’d lead a sparkling life forever; wholesomely averting every ghastly disaster that came their way; pre-warned by your miraculous aura,

When you possessed the most hypnotically mellifluous voice in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely because they thought that they’d eternally float in the aisles of paradise; as you sang the most sensuously romantic of songs,

When you possessed the biggest birthmark in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely because they felt that timelessly being with you; would also ensure that their otherwise jinxed and jilted destinies; would suddenly metamorphose into the most burgeoning flower of good luck,

When you possessed the most pricelessly embellished poems in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely because of wanting their beauty to be transcended to the ultimate epitomes of superiority; as you indefatigably immortalized them in your verse,

When you possessed the most number of Nobel prizes for peace in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely because they thought that they’d never get a man more tranquil and tame than you; to infallibly exist for a countless more lifetimes,

When you possessed the most slavish nature in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely because they could make you lick the grime from their boots all day and night; victoriously keep the chains of every aspect of your life in their tiny fist,

When you possessed the most unassailably scented body in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely because they could forever drift away from the ghoulish stink of sanctimonious worldliness; compassionately mollify their nostrils till their very last breath,

When you possessed the most insuperably masculine form in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely because they could then give vent to the most uninhibitedly uncurbed of their desires; ravenously cuddling up the electrified hair on your brilliantly sculpted chest,

When you possessed the most terrorist organizations in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely to trade their tantalizingly seductive flesh; for every moment of their vividly undefeated life,

When you possessed the most number of Kingdoms in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely to unconquerably control the lives of boundless countrymen; as the invincibly unbridled queen of all times,

When you possessed the most intriguingly innovative brain in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely to be discovered of a limitless intricate emotions of theirs; which were otherwise deplorably spat upon by the sleazily commercial planet,

When you possessed the most poignantly sensuous lips in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely to be endlessly kissed and thereby culminate into a untamed fireball of unfettered passion; for as long as this earth exists,

When you possessed the most artistically blessed fingers in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely so that even the most infinitesimal part of their body could be admired and sketched; at the tiniest of their commands; and in every conceivable shade of light,

When you possessed the most unshakable fame in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely so that even the most untrimmed cranny of their bohemian fingernails; became the perpetually 24 X 7 X 365 talk of every single organisms mouth; on this unceasing globe,

When you possessed the most sharp vision in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely so that that they could put their foot into every possible profitable venture existing; and then exit whenever the odds were astutely foreseen by you,

When you possessed the most loudly throbbing heart in the world; perhaps an infinite women came to you; solely assuming that here was where they could get the ultimate fructification and friendship of their otherwise; wantonly infidel lives,

But when you didn’t possess any of the above; and if yet there was just a single woman who came to you on the trajectory of this fathomlessly bewitching Universe; then it was solely and solely because she really; truly and immortally loved you; for what you were in your most natural form; just as the Almighty Lord had bountifully sent you….

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Trauma Of Time

Time Fades The Smile, Not The Pain.
Time Drains The Water Not The Damage From The Rain.
Time Fades The Tomorrow Not The Yesterday.
Time Fades The Cuts But The Scars Never Go Away.
Time Fades The Sweetness Not All The Things Sour.
Time Fades Those Few Precious Moments But Not The Crippling Hour.
Time Fades The Sun, Not It’s Brutal Remains.
Time Fades The Photographs Not There Stains.
Time Fades The Lessons Not All The Things That I’ve Learned.
Time Puts Out The Fire But Not The Days I Burned.
Time Fades The Colors Not The Glaring White.
Time Fades The Bruises Not The Darkness In The Night.
Time Fades The Happiness Not The Tears.
Time Fades The Triumphs Not The Fears.
Time Fades The Storm Not The Ocean.
Time Fades The Memories Not The Emotion.
Time Fades The Dreams Not The Nightmare.
Time Fades The Hand Not The Times You Weren’t There.
Time Fades The Beauty Not The Gloom.
Time Fades The Doors And Windows Not The Empty Room.
Time Fades The Love Not The Empty Lie.
Time Fades The Hello But Never The Goodbye.

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Time Fades Away

Fourteen junkies too weak to work
One sells diamonds for what theyre worth
Down on pain street, disappointment lurks
Son, dont be home too late.
Try to get back by eight
Son, dont wait till the break of day
cause you know how time fades away.
Time fades away
You know how time fades away.
All day presidents look out windows
All night sentries watch the moonglow
All are waiting till the time is right
Son, dont be home too late
Try to get back by eight
Son, dont wait till the break of day
cause you know how time fades away.
Time fades away
You know how time fades away.
Back in canada I spent my days
Riding subways through a haze
I was handcuffed, I was born & raised
Son, dont be home too late
Try to get back by eight
Son, dont wait till the break of day
cause you know how time fades away.
Time fades away
You know how time fades away.
Thirteen junkies too weak to work
One sells diamonds for what theyre worth
Down on pain street disappointment lurks.
Son, dont be home too late
Try to get back by eight, eight
Son, dont wait till the break of day
cause you know how time fades away.
Time fades away
You know how time fades away.
Time fades away
You know how time fades away

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Maybe Not Today But When That Medication Fades

I use to feel so bad about it.
I use to get so mad and doubt it.
When conversations turned to age.
And who had looks they thought would stay.

I use to feel so bad about it.
I use to feel so mad and doubt it!
When conversations turned to age.
And who had looks they thought would stay!

Right now,
I'm a little proactive than the rest.

Right now,
When I walk outside I'm there to exercise...
With a steadied pacing of determined steps.

And right now chronologically,
Nobody's getting younger.
And even those stunning....
Will see a Sunset,
On their youthfulness.

And an aging seems to creep up on the 'stunning ones'.
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
They wish to run through life as if it's nothing BUT fun.
Maybe another day they will wish they didn't...
When that medication fades.
Putting off tomorrow what today should be done!
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.

And they will someday gratefully pray.
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.

I use to feel so bad about it.
I use to get so mad and doubt it.
When conversations turned to age.
And who had looks they thought would stay.

And an aging seems to creep up on the 'stunning ones'.
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
They wish to run through life as if it's nothing BUT fun.
To leave everything around them undone!

And they will someday gratefully pray.
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
And they will someday rest and not have hourly played!
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
And they will learn to disobey doesn't really pay.

[...] Read more

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Courtship of Miles Standish, The

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

[...] Read more

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Courtship of Miles Standish

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

[...] Read more

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Friendship

Friendship

Friendship is love,
Without friendship love means nothing!
Without friendship love is empty…
Without friendship love is boring...!

Friendship means sharing…
People learn to share from friendship,
Share everything they have in life,

Friendship is like stars,
Even though we always see them together
Always mean to each other…
But,
Sometimes they argue!

Friendship is like flower,
Soft but strong!
Friendship is like sun,
Bright and beautiful!

Friendship is everything in life,
Life without friendship is like life without air…
Life without friendship is like eats without food
And
Life without friendship is like body without soul…

Friendship is wide!
Anybody can be our friend,
Our parents, our grandparents, our sister, our brother and even our school principal!

Friendship….
Is everything!

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Gotham - Book I

Far off (no matter whether east or west,
A real country, or one made in jest,
Nor yet by modern Mandevilles disgraced,
Nor by map-jobbers wretchedly misplaced)
There lies an island, neither great nor small,
Which, for distinction sake, I Gotham call.
The man who finds an unknown country out,
By giving it a name, acquires, no doubt,
A Gospel title, though the people there
The pious Christian thinks not worth his care
Bar this pretence, and into air is hurl'd
The claim of Europe to the Western world.
Cast by a tempest on the savage coast,
Some roving buccaneer set up a post;
A beam, in proper form transversely laid,
Of his Redeemer's cross the figure made--
Of that Redeemer, with whose laws his life,
From first to last, had been one scene of strife;
His royal master's name thereon engraved,
Without more process the whole race enslaved,
Cut off that charter they from Nature drew,
And made them slaves to men they never knew.
Search ancient histories, consult records,
Under this title the most Christian lords
Hold (thanks to conscience) more than half the ball;
O'erthrow this title, they have none at all;
For never yet might any monarch dare,
Who lived to Truth, and breathed a Christian air,
Pretend that Christ, (who came, we all agree,
To bless his people, and to set them free)
To make a convert, ever one law gave
By which converters made him first a slave.
Spite of the glosses of a canting priest,
Who talks of charity, but means a feast;
Who recommends it (whilst he seems to feel
The holy glowings of a real zeal)
To all his hearers as a deed of worth,
To give them heaven whom they have robb'd of earth;
Never shall one, one truly honest man,
Who, bless'd with Liberty, reveres her plan,
Allow one moment that a savage sire
Could from his wretched race, for childish hire,
By a wild grant, their all, their freedom pass,
And sell his country for a bit of glass.
Or grant this barbarous right, let Spain and France,
In slavery bred, as purchasers advance;
Let them, whilst Conscience is at distance hurl'd,
With some gay bauble buy a golden world:
An Englishman, in charter'd freedom born,
Shall spurn the slavish merchandise, shall scorn

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Michael Caine

Well get ya ya ya
Well get ya ya ya
(I am michael caine)
La la la la la la la la
Hes walking where Im afraid I dont know
I see the firemen jumping from the windows
Theres panic and I hear somebody scream
He picks up useless paper and puts it in my pocket
Im trying very hard to keep my fingers clean
I cant remember tell me whats his name
(my name is michael caine)
And all I wanted was a word or photograph to keep at home
And all I wanted was a word or photograph to keep
The sun is laughing its another broken morning
I see a shadow and call out to try and warn him
He didnt seem to hear just turned away
The quiet fellow follows
And points his finger straight at you
He had to sacrifice his pride, yes
And throw it all away
(I am micheal caine)
And all I wanted was a word or photograph to keep at home
And all I wanted was a word or photograph to keep
His days are numbered he walks round and round in circles
There is no place he can ever call his own
He seems to jump at the sound of the phone
Staring out the window theres nothing he can now do
All he wanted was to remain sane
He cant remer hisemb own name
(my name is michael caine)
And all I wanted was a word or photograph to keep at home
And all I wanted was a word or photograph to keep
All I wanted was a word or photograph
All I wanted was a word or photograph to keep

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A Time To Feel Forlorn and Reconstruct What's Torn

There's a designated time in the universe for everything:

A time to limit, a time to expand.
A time to rise, time to lower and lend a hand.

A time to maintain, a time to abandon.
A time to develop, a time to rest at random.

A time to communicate, a time for silence.
A time to kiss your enemy, a time to concede wins.

A time to spite, a time to please.
A time for respite, a time to tease.

A time to process, a time to confess.
A time to do more. A time to do less.

A time to dominate. A time to captivate.
A time to plunge. A time to resurface straight.

A time to maximise. A time to minimise.
A time to diminish. A time to optimise.

A time to sacrifice. time to insist on rights.
A time to be selfish. A time to be concerned about plights.

A time to be big. A time to be small.
A time to care for a special one. A time to love all.

A time to add dimension. A time to simplify.
A time to advocate egalitarianism.
A time to exult.
A time to default.
A time to be accepting of imperfect humanism.

A time to enhance. A time to simplify.
A time to criticise. A time to dignify.

A time to produce. A time to use.
A time to relent. A time to refuse.

A time to demand. A time to give.
A time to die. a time to live.

A time to survive. A time to admit defeat.
A time to lie. A time to walk on your feet.

A time to compete. A time to not.
A time to remember. A time to concede you forgot.

[...] Read more

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IX. Juris Doctor Johannes-Baptista Bottinius, Fisci et Rev. Cam. Apostol. Advocatus

Had I God's leave, how I would alter things!
If I might read instead of print my speech,—
Ay, and enliven speech with many a flower
Refuses obstinate to blow in print,
As wildings planted in a prim parterre,—
This scurvy room were turned an immense hall;
Opposite, fifty judges in a row;
This side and that of me, for audience—Rome:
And, where yon window is, the Pope should hide—
Watch, curtained, but peep visibly enough.
A buzz of expectation! Through the crowd,
Jingling his chain and stumping with his staff,
Up comes an usher, louts him low, "The Court
"Requires the allocution of the Fisc!"
I rise, I bend, I look about me, pause
O'er the hushed multitude: I count—One, two—

Have ye seen, Judges, have ye, lights of law,—
When it may hap some painter, much in vogue
Throughout our city nutritive of arts,
Ye summon to a task shall test his worth,
And manufacture, as he knows and can,
A work may decorate a palace-wall,
Afford my lords their Holy Family,—
Hath it escaped the acumen of the Court
How such a painter sets himself to paint?
Suppose that Joseph, Mary and her Babe
A-journeying to Egypt, prove the piece:
Why, first he sedulously practiseth,
This painter,—girding loin and lighting lamp,—
On what may nourish eye, make facile hand;
Getteth him studies (styled by draughtsmen so)
From some assistant corpse of Jew or Turk
Or, haply, Molinist, he cuts and carves,—
This Luca or this Carlo or the like.
To him the bones their inmost secret yield,
Each notch and nodule signify their use:
On him the muscles turn, in triple tier,
And pleasantly entreat the entrusted man
"Familiarize thee with our play that lifts
"Thus, and thus lowers again, leg, arm and foot!"
—Ensuring due correctness in the nude.
Which done, is all done? Not a whit, ye know!
He,—to art's surface rising from her depth,—
If some flax-polled soft-bearded sire be found,
May simulate a Joseph, (happy chance!)—
Limneth exact each wrinkle of the brow,
Loseth no involution, cheek or chap,
Till lo, in black and white, the senior lives!
Is it a young and comely peasant-nurse

[...] Read more

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A Friendship Is But A Flower

A friendship is but a flower
Growing out in Gods garden
Helping out the fellow man
Not knowing should they get a pardon

A friendship is but a flower
Waiting to bloom in the spring
Waiting with a helping hand or an ear
To help or listen to most any ol thing

A friendship is but a flower
That God lends to us for a while
To help us along our way
And give us a reason for a smile

A friendship is but a flower
Leaving impressions on our hearts
Never knowing when it might end
But, always happy to see it start

A friendship is but a flower
Sent with guidance from above
The friendship must be based on trust
But, like the flower, it's started with Gods love

Friendship is but a flower
Sent down for all of us to share
So pass on your bit of friendship
Show someone just how much you care

A friendship is but a flower
And this friendship I pass on to you
So please take my flower and friendship
So you can pass it on to others too

wrote 3/3/2009 by Norman Hale Jr

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Happy Friendship Day,2011

Good friendship is important in earthly life
True friendship is a rare find, lasting a life-time
Friendship is supportive, wholesome and priceless
Friendship must grow but is difficult to keep.

Friendship affords joy, solace and distraction
Friendship gives a better meaning to life
Friendship may deliver what parents sometimes fail to
Friendship is valuable, useful and advantageous.

Friendship makes the world a better place to live
Friendship makes living worthwhile, loveable and liveable
Friendship creates the right environs for sharing
The basis of good friendship is selfless, dedicated love of a special kind.


(7-8-11)

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Life Fades Away

Written by orbison/danzig
My time has come the clouds are calling.
December wind has came my way.
And now I feel the world falling.
All at once, its too late.
Life fades away.
The night is my day.
All thoughts slip away
And even though, I must leave you.
Remember I love you.
Ill always be in your memories.
I will always be with you when Im gone.
Hey, life fades away.
Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,yeah.
Life fades away.
Im tired on tomorrow.lost for today.
I long to be at peace forever.
My dull peace
And even though, I will miss you.
I must leave you.
Hey, life fades away.
Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah,yeah, yeah.
Life fades away.
So please forgive me.and try not to cry.
I long to be at peace forever more.
Forever more.
Oh yeah, yeah , yeah ,yeah ,yeah.
Oh yeah, yeah ,yeah , yeah, yeah.
Life fades away.
Life fades away.
Life fades away.away.
One last thing to say
Life fades away.

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Byron

L'Amitté Est L'Amour

Why should my anxious breast repine.
Because my youth is fled?
Days of delight may still be mine;
Affection is not dead.
In tracing back the years of youth,
One firm record, one lasting truth,
Celestial consolation brings;
Bear it, ye breezes, to the seat,
Where first my heart responsive beat,-
'Friendship is Love without his wings!'

Through few, but deeply chequer'd years,
What moments have been mine!
Now half obscured by clouds of tears,
Now bright in rays divine;
Howe'er my future doom be cast,
My soul, enraptured with the past,
To one idea fondly clings
Friendship! that thought is all thine own,
Worth worlds of bliss, that thought alone -
'Friendship is Love without his wings!'

Where yonder yew-trees lightly wave
Their branches on the gale,
Unheeded heaves a simple grave,
Which tells the common tale;
Round this unconscious schoolboys stray,
Till the dull knell of childish play
From yonder studious mansion rings;
But here whene'er my footsteps move,
My silent tears too plainly prove
'Friendship is Love without his wings!'

Oh, Love! before thy glowing shrine
My early vows were paid;
My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine,
But these are now decay'd;
For thine are pinions like the wind,
No trace of thee remains behind,
Except, alas! thy Jealous stings.
Away, away! delusive power,
Thou shalt not haunt my coining hour;
Unless, indeed, without thy wings.

Seat of my youth! thy distant spire
Recalls each scene of joy;
My bosom glows with former fire,-
In mind again a boy.
Thy grove of elms thy verdant hill,
Thy eyery path delights me still,

[...] Read more

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The Photograph

She sat on the platform bench
waiting for a train to arrive.
Waiting to see her brother
who left to start a new life
twenty-five years ago.
She brought a photograph of herself
for him to have when he went back home.

Stillness engulfed the station
as she waited alone there.
The hiss of an old steam train
filled the quiet air
as along the track it came
like a dinosaur from the past
and stopped at the station.

A group of young soldiers
disembarked to stretch their legs
and grab some fresh air.
One young soldier approached her.
He was sixteen if he was a day.
He smiled as he sat beside her.
“You’re a pretty lady.” He said.

“Thank you.” She replied. “Off to fight some battles? ”
“Yes, but I am not really sure where.
They say a lot of us might not be coming back”
“That is sad.” She replied.
“Especially when you have no one
to think of you.”


“You see I am an orphan
and have no family or a girlfriend come to that.
No one to think of me
when the great battles come.”
“Now that is sad, ” She said looking at him.
Then she realized the photograph
for her brother was in her handbag.

She reached in and removed it.
“Take this and think of me
when your great battles come.”
“I will keep it with me always.
Now I must get back on the train.”
As the train whistle blew.
He waved goodbye as the steam engulfed him.

Then the train was gone
as quickly as it had come.

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Voltaire

The Temple of Friendship

Sacred to peace, within a wood's recess,
A blest retreat, where courtiers never press,
A temple stands, where art did never try
With pompous wonders to enchant the eye;
There are no dazzling ornaments, nor vain,
But truth, simplicity, and nature reign:
The virtuous Gauls raised erst the noble shrine,
And sacred vowed to Friendship's power divine.
Mistaken mortals who believed their race,
Would never cease to crowd to such a place!
Orestes' name, and Pylades' appear,
Wrote on the front, names still to Friendship dear:
Pirithous' medal of uncommon size,
Those of soft Nisus and Achates wise.
All these are heroes, and as friends renowned,
These names are great, but still in fable found;
The power to this remote retreat retired,
Nor Tripod boasts, nor priests with truth inspired;
She miracles but seldom can effect,
No popish saint e'er met with such neglect.
Still in her presence faithful truth attends,
And to the goddess needful succor lends:
Truth's every ready to enlighten all,
But few on truth for kind assistance call.
In vain she waits for votaries at her shrine,
None come, though all at wanting her repine;
Her hand holds forth the register exact,
Of every generous, every friendly act;
Favors in which esteem with friendship vied,
Received not meanly, not conferred with pride:
Such favors as those who confer forget,
And who receive, declare without regret.
This history of the virtues of mankind,
Within a narrow compass is confined;
In Gothic characters all these are traced
Upon two sheets, by time almost defaced.
By what strange frenzy is mankind possessed,
Friendship is banished now from every breast;
Yet all usurp of Friend the sacred name,
And vilest hypocrites bring in their claim.
All that they're faithful to her laws maintain,
And even her enemies her rights profane:
In regions subject to the pope's command,
Thus we see beads oft in an atheist's hand.
'Tis said the goddess, each pretended friend,
Once in her presence summoned to attend;
She fixed the day on which they should be there,
A prize proposing for each faithful pair;
Who with a tenderness like hers replete,
Amongst true friends might justly claim a seat;

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The Dream

'TWAS summer eve; the changeful beams still play'd
On the fir-bark and through the beechen shade;
Still with soft crimson glow'd each floating cloud;
Still the stream glitter'd where the willow bow'd;
Still the pale moon sate silent and alone,
Nor yet the stars had rallied round her throne;
Those diamond courtiers, who, while yet the West
Wears the red shield above his dying breast,
Dare not assume the loss they all desire,
Nor pay their homage to the fainter fire,
But wait in trembling till the Sun's fair light
Fading, shall leave them free to welcome Night!

So when some Chief, whose name through realms afar
Was still the watchword of succesful war,
Met by the fatal hour which waits for all,
Is, on the field he rallied, forced to fall,
The conquerors pause to watch his parting breath,
Awed by the terrors of that mighty death;
Nor dare the meed of victory to claim,
Nor lift the standard to a meaner name,
Till every spark of soul hath ebb'd away,
And leaves what was a hero, common clay.

Oh! Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth
To dim enchantments; melting Heaven with Earth,
Leaving on craggy hills and rumning streams
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams;
Thy hour to all is welcome! Faint and sweet
Thy light falls round the peasant's homeward feet,
Who, slow returning from his task of toil,
Sees the low sunset gild the cultured soil,
And, tho' such radliance round him brightly glows,
Marks the small spark his cottage window throws.
Still as his heart forestals his weary pace,
Fondly he dreams of each familiar face,
Recalls the treasures of his narrow life,
His rosy children, and his sunburnt wife,

To whom his coming is the chief event
Of simple days in cheerful labour spent.
The rich man's chariot hath gone whirling past,
And those poor cottagers have only cast
One careless glance on all that show of pride,
Then to their tasks turn'd quietly aside;
But him they wait for, him they welcome home,
Fond sentinels look forth to see him come;
The fagot sent for when the fire grew dim,
The frugal meal prepared, are all for him;
For him the watching of that sturdy boy,

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The Richest Man

A true friendship is Golden,
It lasts for eternity, not for a fleeting moment,
It endures petty squabbles and unkind words,
it endures because it is Golden.

...A true friendship is climbing the largest mountain in the world,
It is wrapping up warm on a bitter, wintry day,
It is the warm glow of a traditional log fire,
A true friendship is Golden.

A true friendship is about trying to make things better,
providing strength in times of adversity,
and courage in times of weakness,
A true friendship is Golden.

A true friendship is turning dakness into light,
being a rock to rely on when life is cruel,
it is about being there when the going is tough,
A true friendship is Golden.

A true friendship is unwrapping a special present on Christmas day,
it is the tinsel that decorates so beautifully the tree,
it is the star that lights up the night sky,
A true friendship is priceless, something gold cant buy

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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,—

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