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Much Like a Famine

The purpose and use for slander,
Is to defame one's character.
And effectively diminish one's character.
Usually done,
To enhance to doer!
Or to undo the deeds one does...
To defeat the success of activities,
Yet to be completed.
However...
This eventually has ill affects!
Since ambitions to destroy,
Spreads a slow decay.
Much like a famine...
Can feed an unsuspecting,
Epidemic.
That can be traced to its origin.

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And As For Love

and as for love
that i denied one time too many
she left me at the break of day
when i awoke she seemed still spinning in my head
but she was gone, the capsule empty and her body dead
was all she'd left behind without a last adieu
sometimes i wonder if she4d left a hundred years ago
to start anew we need to be strangers from now on
and as for love we need to be strangers from now on
and i remember when she came into my life
it didn't count who she was or what i was like
i never meant to hurt her but she never did
her name was love, her bodies infinite
and now she is gone, the capsule empty and her body dead
sometimes i wonder if she'd left a hundred years ago
to start anew we need to be strangers from now on
and as for love we need to be strangers from now on...

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There Is A Purpose And Meaning

No one is obligated,
To shoulder another's burden.
Or protect them,
From a misinterpreted view of life.

We all are presented with challenges.
And beset with missions to accomplish.

There is a purpose and meaning,
For being who we are!
No one here has been created,
To do as they please and leave.

Our experiences should teach us that.
But many do not mature to achieve clarity.
Although seeking to be understood,
Seems to be a goal some choose...
To refuse a reality they have been specifically given!

There is a purpose and meaning,
For being who we are!
No one is obligated,
To shoulder another's burden.
Or be shown an escape route,
To glorify their pleasures!

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I Look Up At The Sky/And Wait For A Poem

I LOOK UP AT THE SKY/ AND WAIT FOR A POEM

I look up at the sky
And wait for a poem-
The deep dark green of this park surrounds me -
I have been blessed by so much
I have been given so much in my life-

This cool beautiful Yerushalmi night
All I am is thanking God.

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The Reason And Cause For Their Pain

Everyday!
Everyday as if a ritual,
Someone is complaining...
About being misunderstood.

Everyday as if a ritual,
Fault is being made...
About someone else.

Everyday as if a ritual,
People are accused...
For something they didn't do.

Everyday!
Everyday as if a ritual,
Some believes they have the right...
To excuse themselves of responsibility.

And everyday,
Someone is left to feel alone...
Still not getting the connection,
Between their misdeeds...
Aches and pains.
And those heartbreaks they receive,
They have come to perceive...
No one else has known!

And everyday without fail,
As sure as the ticking of a clock is heard...
These people will not see themselves,
The reason and cause for their pain.

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The Words Ceased To Want Themselves And Longed For a World Outside

THE WORDS CEASED TO WANT THEMSELVES AND LONGED FOR A WORLD OUTSIDE

The words ceased to want themselves and longed for a world outside
The world outside dumb and beautiful wanted nothing of anyone
We the intermediaries plied our trade describing and revising whatever we perceived
But we were not the ones we thought we should be
We were not the messengers of Light and Hope to distant worlds
They had their own forms of speaking that we cannot hear
And so we programmed our great messages down through the ages
To read only the cryptic path of our own troubled minds
We are not the code of every living thing
Or the final messenger to the last star
Or the only single secret sound God wants heard over and over again
We are not the prayer- leaders of the sacred congregation of the galaxies
Deeper than all darkness and dark- matter deeper even than our own souls

We are a faint flickering
A minor music
An insubstantial voice
That is pretending to go round and round and round again and again and again
Forever
But is only a single passage a one way ticket one way word
A trip which even if it goes to the end of the universe
Will one day end.

Oh Death how you have defeated us all
Even when we in Youth knew you did not exist
How you waited and ambushed our dreaming.

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The original plan

It is not a game
One should not blame
There is no reason to feel shame
One should not go all out for charges to frame

It is simple logic
It has some principles and basic
It is felling that has to be respected
The mind and heart should nearly be inspected

It hurts most if one is separated
It must have no reasons to be related
The faults of both can not be equated
There is no use for it to be stated

One is always held guilty
It is shame and pity
There has to be no blame
You will be down with no fame

Let the love mushroom in its own way
If that does not realize than one must prefer and go away
Love is anotehr name for sacrifice
It is always good to be true and feel very nice

Not all the flowers may boom in garden
This is happening in all spheres of life even
It has to be taken on its face value
We must observe it and have correct view

The lies have absolutely no place
This is not something like business or race
It is give and take and finally to adjust
The trust is paramount and must

No one can seriously think of deserting
It is only pur love and needs asserting
What else can be appropriate than reassuring
The love may last long and enduring

How can we avoid confornation?
It must be ruled out of question
This is such an delicate stage
No one cam later on manage

You may go on strengthening the tie
You may still be in the air to fly
The stage is so uncertain and with impossibility
That can prove your honesty and ability

You have thrown whole weight behind
You are very eager for results to find
God may certainly shower the kindness
You may have less sproblems to face

You go as per your original thinking
Leave everything to Him and stop sinking
He will guide you to the destiny and final place
This is not any ground competition or race

You are sure of winning it
You are capable and very fit
You need write it on paper sheet
You openly embrace and greet

It is wroth try in opening new phase
It is not difficult but can feel at ease
Try to accommodate her views
Th success so farr has enjoyed by only fews

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The Falcon

Who would not be Sir Hubert, for his birth and bearing fine,
His rich sky-skirted woodlands, valleys flowing oil and wine;
Sir Hubert, to whose sunning all the rays of fortune shine?
So most men praised Sir Hubert, and some others warm'd with praise
Of Hubert noble-hearted, than whom none went on his ways
Less spoilt by splendid fortune, whom no peril could amaze.
To Ladies all, save one, he was the rule by which the worth
Of other men was reckon'd; so that many a maid, for dearth
Of such a knight to woo her, love forswore, and with it mirth.
No prince could match his banquets, when proud Mabel was his guest;
And shows and sumptuous triumphs day by day his hope express'd
That love e'en yet might burgeon in her young unburgeon'd breast.
Time pass'd, and use for riches pass'd with hope, which slowly fled;
And want came on unheeded; and report in one day spread
Of good Sir Hubert houseless, and of Mabel richly wed.
Forth went he from the city where she dwelt, to one poor farm,
All left of all his valleys: there Sir Hubert's single arm
Served Hubert's wants; and labour soon relieved love's rankling harm.
Much hardship brought much easement of the melancholy freight
He bore within his bosom; and his fancy was elate
And proud of Love's rash sacrifice which led to this estate.
One friend was left, a falcon, famed for beauty, skill, and size,
Kept from his fortune's ruin, for the sake of its great eyes,
That seem'd to him like Mabel's. Of an evening he would rise,
And wake its royal glances and reluctantly flapp'd wings,
And looks of grave communion with his lightsome questionings,
That broke the drowsy sameness, and the sense like fear that springs
At night, when we are conscious of our distance from the strife
Of cities, and the memory of the spirit in all things rife
Endows the silence round us with a grim and ghastly life.
His active resignation wrought, in time, a heartfelt peace,
And though, in noble bosoms, love once lit can never cease,
He could walk and think of Mabel, and his pace would not increase.
Who say, when somewhat distanced from the heat and fiercer might,
‘Love's brand burns us no longer; it is out,’ use not their sight
For ever and for ever we are lighted by the light:
And ere there be extinguish'd one minutest flame, love-fann'd,
The Pyramids of Egypt shall have no place in the land,
But as a nameless portion of its ever-shifting sand.
News came at last that Mabel was a widow; but, with this,
That all her dead Lord's wealth went first to her one child and his;
So she was not for Hubert, had she beckon'd him to bliss;
For Hubert felt, tho' Mabel might, like him, become resign'd
To poverty for Love's sake, she might never, like him, find
That poverty is plenty, peace, and freedom of the mind.
One morning, while he rested from his delving, spade in hand,
He thought of her and blest her, and he look'd about the land,
And he, and all he look'd at, seem'd to brighten and expand.
The wind was newly risen; and the airy skies were rife
With fleets of sailing cloudlets, and the trees were all in strife,
Extravagantly triumphant at their newly gotten life.
Birds wrangled in the branches, with a trouble of sweet noise;
Even the conscious cuckoo, judging wisest to rejoice,
Shook round his ‘cuckoo, cuckoo,’ as if careless of his voice.
But Hubert mused and marvell'd at the glory in his breast;
The first glow turn'd to passion, and he nursed it unexpress'd;
And glory gilding glory turn'd, at last, to sunny rest.
Then again he look'd around him, like an angel, and, behold,
The scene was changed; no cloudlets cross'd the serious blue, but, roll'd
Behind the distant hill-tops, gleam'd aërial hills of gold.
The wind too was abated, and the trees and birds were grown
As quiet as the cloud-banks; right above, the bright sun shone,
Down looking from the forehead of the giant sky alone.
Then the nightingale, awaken'd by the silence, shot a throng
Of notes into the sunshine: cautious first, then swift and strong;
Then he madly smote them round him, till the bright air throbb'd with song,
And suddenly stopp'd singing, all amid his ecstasies:—
Myrtles rustle; what sees Hubert? sight is sceptic, but his knees
Bend to the Lady Mabel, as she blossoms from the trees.
She spoke, her eyes cast downwards, while upon them, dropp'd half way,
Lids fairer than the bosom of an unblown lily lay:
‘In faith of ancient amity, Sir Hubert, I this day
‘Would beg a boon, and bind me your great debtor.’ O, her mouth
Was sweet beyond new honey, or the bean-perfumed South,
And better than pomegranates to a pilgrim dumb for drouth!
She look'd at his poor homestead; at the spade beside his hand;
And then her heart reproach'd her, What inordinate demand
Was she come there for making! Then she says, in accents bland,
Her Page and she are weary, and her wish can wait; she'll share
His noontide meal, by his favour. This he hastens to prepare;
But, lo! the roost is empty, and his humble larder bare.
No friend has he to help him; no one near of whom to claim
The tax, and force its payment in his passion's sovereign name;
No time to set the pitfalls for the swift and fearful game;
Too late to fly his falcon, which, as if it would assist
Its master's trouble, perches on his idly proffer'd fist,
With busy, dumb caresses, treading up and down his wrist.
But now a gleam of comfort and a shadow of dismay
Pass o'er the good knight's features; now it seems he would essay
The fatness of his falcon, while it flaps both wings for play;
Now, lo, the ruthless lover takes it off its trusted stand;
Grasps all its frighten'd body with his hard remorseless hand;
Puts out its faithful life, and plucks and broils it on the brand.
In midst of this her dinner, Mabel gave her wish its word:
‘My wilful child, Sir Hubert, pines from fancy long deferr'd;
And now he raves in fever to possess your famous bird.’
‘Alas!’ he said, ‘behold it there.’ Then nobly did she say:
‘It grieves my heart, Sir Hubert, that I'm much too poor to pay
For this o'er-queenly banquet I am honour'd with to-day;
‘But if, Sir, we two, henceforth, can converse as friends, my board
To you shall be as open as it would were you its Lord.’
And so she bow'd and left him, from his vex'd mind unrestored.
Months pass'd, and Hubert went not, but lived on in his old way;
Until to him, one morning, Mabel sent her Page to say,
That, should it suit his pleasure, she would speak with him that day.
‘Ah, welcome Sir!’ said Mabel, rising courteous, kind and free
‘I hoped, ere this, to have had you for my guest, but now I see
That you are even prouder than they whisper you to be.’
Made grave by her great beauty, but not dazzled, he replied,
With every noble courtesy, to her words; and spoke beside
Such things as are permitted to bare friendship; not in pride,
Or wilful overacting of the right, which often blends
Its sacrificial pathos, bitter-sweet, with lover's ends,
Or that he now remember'd her command to meet ‘as friends;’
But having not had knowledge that the infant heir was dead,
Whose life made it more loving to preserve his love unsaid,
He waited, calmly wondering to what mark this summons led.
She, puzzled with a strangeness by his actions disavow'd,
Spoke further: ‘Once, Sir Hubert, I was thoughtless, therefore proud;
Your love on me shone sunlike. I, alas, have been your cloud,
And, graceless, quench'd the light that made me splendid. I would fain
Pay part of what I owe you, that is, if,—alas, but then
I know not! Things are changed, and you are not as other men.’
She strove to give her meaning, yet blush'd deeply with dismay
Lest he should find it. Hubert fear'd she purpos'd to repay
His love with less than love. Thought he, ‘Sin 'twas my hawk to slay!’
His eyes are dropp'd in sorrow from their worshipping: but, lo!
Upon her sable vesture they are fall'n; with progress slow,
Through dawning apprehension to sweet hope, his features glow;
And all at once are lighted with a light, as when the moon,
Long labouring to the margin of a cloud, still seeming soon
About to swim beyond it, bursts at last as bare as noon.
‘O, Lady, I have loved, and long kept silence; but I see
The time is come for speaking, O, sweet Lady, I should be
The blessedest knight in Christendom, were I beloved by thee!’
One small hand's weight of whiteness on her bosom did she press;
The other, woo'd with kisses bold, refused not his caress;
Feasting the hungry silence came, sob-clad, her silver ‘Yes.’

Now who would not be Hubert, for his dark-eyed Bride divine,
Her rich, sky-skirted woodlands, valleys flowing oil and wine,
Sir Hubert to whose sunning all the rays of fortune shine!’

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The Flower And The Leaf

When that Phebus his chaire of gold so hy
Had whirled up the sterry sky aloft,
And in the Bole was entred certainly;
Whan shoures swete of rain discended soft,
Causing the ground, felë tymes and oft,
Up for to give many an hoolsom air,
And every plain was [eek y-]clothed fair

With newe grene, and maketh smalë floures
To springen here and there in feld and mede;
So very good and hoolsom be the shoures
That it reneweth, that was old and deede
In winter-tyme; and out of every seede
Springeth the herbë, so that every wight
Of this sesoun wexeth [ful] glad and light.

And I, só glad of the seson swete,
Was happed thus upon a certain night;
As I lay in my bed, sleep ful unmete
Was unto me; but, why that I ne might
Rest, I ne wist; for there nas erthly wight,
As I suppose, had more hertës ese
Than I, for I n'ad siknesse nor disese.

Wherfore I mervail gretly of my-selve,
That I so long, withouten sleepë lay;
And up I roos, three houres after twelve,
About the [very] springing of the day,
And on I put my gere and myn array;
And to a plesaunt grovë I gan passe,
Long or the brightë sonne uprisen was,

In which were okës grete, streight as a lyne,
Under the which the gras, so fresh of hew,
Was newly spronge; and an eight foot or nyne
Every tree wel fro his felawe grew,
With braunches brode, laden with leves new,
That sprongen out ayein the sonnë shene,
Som very rede, and som a glad light grene;

Which, as me thought, was right a plesaunt sight.
And eek the briddes song[ës] for to here
Would have rejoised any erthly wight.
And I, that couth not yet, in no manere,
Here the nightingale of al the yere,
Ful busily herkned, with herte and ere,
If I her voice perceive coud any-where.

And at the last, a path of litel brede
I found, that gretly had not used be,
For it forgrowen was with gras and weede,
That wel unneth a wight [ther] might it see.
Thought I, this path som whider goth, pardè,
And so I folowèd, til it me brought
To right a plesaunt herber, wel y-wrought,

That benched was, and [al] with turves new
Freshly turved, wherof the grenë gras
So small, so thik, so short, so fresh of hew,
That most lyk to grene wol, wot I, it was.
The hegge also, that yede [as] in compas
And closed in al the grene herbere,
With sicamour was set and eglantere,

Writhen in-fere so wel and cunningly
That every braunch and leef grew by mesure,
Plain as a bord, of on height, by and by,
[That] I sy never thing, I you ensure,
So wel [y-]don; for he that took the cure
It [for] to make, I trow, did al his peyn
To make it passe al tho that men have seyn.

And shapen was this herber, roof and al,
As [is] a prety parlour, and also
The hegge as thik as [is] a castle-wal,
That, who that list without to stond or go,
Though he wold al-day pryen to and fro,
He shuld not see if there were any wight
Within or no; but oon within wel might

Perceive al tho that yeden there-without
In the feld, that was on every syde
Covered with corn and gras, that, out of dout,
Though oon wold seeken al the world wyde,
So rich a feld [ne] coud not be espyed
[Up]on no cost, as of the quantitee,
For of al good thing ther was [greet] plentee.

And I, that al this plesaunt sight [than] sy,
Thought sodainly I felt so sweet an air
[Come] of the eglantere, that certainly,
Ther is no hert, I deme, in such despair,
Ne with [no] thoughtës froward and contrair
So overlaid, but it shuld soone have bote,
If it had onës felt this savour sote.

And as I stood and cast asyde myn y,
I was ware of the fairest medle-tree
That ever yet in al my lyf I sy,
As full of blossomës as it might be.
Therin a goldfinch leping pretily
Fro bough to bough, and, as him list, he eet
Here and there, of buddes and floures sweet.

And to the herber-sydë was joining
This fairë tree, of which I have you told;
And, at the last, the brid began to sing,
Whan he had eten what he etë wold,
So passing sweetly, that, by manifold,
It was more plesaunt than I coud devyse;
And whan his song was ended in this wyse,

The nightingale with so mery a note
Answéred him, that al the wodë rong
So sodainly, that, as it were a sot,
I stood astonied; so was I with the song
Through ravishèd, that, [un]til late and long
Ne wist I in what place I was, ne where;
And ay, me thought, she song even by myn ere.

Wherfore about I waited busily
On every syde, if I her mightë see;
And, at the last, I gan ful wel aspy
Wher she sat in a fresh green laurer-tree
On the further syde, even right by me,
That gave so passing a delicious smel
According to the eglantere ful wel.

Wherof I had so inly greet plesyr
That, as me thought, I surely ravished was
Into Paradyse, where my desyr
Was for to be, and no ferther [to] passe
As for that day, and on the sotë gras
I sat me doun; for, as for myn entent,
The birdës song was more convenient,

And more plesaunt to me, by many fold,
Than mete or drink, or any other thing;
Thereto the herber was so fresh and cold,
The hoolsom savours eek so comforting
That, as I demed, sith the beginning
Of the world, was never seen, or than,
So plesaunt a ground of non erthly man.

And as I sat, the briddës herkning thus,
Me thought that I herd voices sodainly,
The most sweetest and most delicious
That ever any wight, I trow trewly,
Herde in his lyf, for [that] the armony
And sweet accord was in so good musyk,
Thát the voice to angels most was lyk.

At the last, out of a grove even by,
That was right goodly and plesaunt to sight,
I sy where there cam singing lustily
A world of ladies; but to tell aright
Their greet beautè, it lyth not in my might,
Ne their array; nevertheless, I shal
Tell you a part, though I speke not of al.

In surcotes whyte, of veluet wel sitting,
They were [y-]clad; and the semes echoon,
As it were a maner garnishing,
Was set with emeraudës, oon and oon,
By and by; but many a richë stoon
Was set [up-]on the purfils, out of dout,
Of colors, sleves, and trainës round about;

As gret[e] perlës, round and orient,
Diamondës fyne and rubies rede,
And many another stoon, of which I want
The namës now; and everich on her hede
A richë fret of gold, which, without drede,
Was ful of statly richë stonës set;
And every lady had a chapëlet

On her hede, of [leves] fresh and grene,
So wel [y-]wrought, and so mervéilously,
Thát it was a noble sight to sene;
Some of laurer, and some ful plesauntly
Had chapëlets of woodbind, and sadly
Some of agnus-castus ware also
Chápëlets fresh; but there were many tho

That daunced and eek song ful soberly;
But al they yede in maner of compas.
But oon ther yede in-mid the company.
Sole by her-self; but al folowed the pace
[Which] that she kept, whos hevenly-figured face
So plesaunt was, and her wel-shape persòn,
That of beautè she past hem everichon.

And more richly beseen, by manifold,
She was also, in every maner thing;
On her heed, ful plesaunt to behold,
A crowne of gold, rich for any king;
A braunch of agnus-castus eek bering
In her hand; and, to my sight, trewly,
She lady was of [al] the company.

And she began a roundel lustily,
That Sus le foyl de vert moy men call,
Seen, et mon joly cuer endormi;
And than the company answéred all
With voice[s] swete entuned and so small,
That me thought it the sweetest melody
That ever I herdë in my lyf, soothly.

And thus they came[n], dauncing and singing,
Into the middes of the mede echone,
Before the herber, where I was sitting,
And, god wot, me thought I was wel bigon;
For than I might avyse hem, on by on,
Who fairest was, who coud best dance or sing,
Or who most womanly was in al thing.

They had not daunced but a litel throw
When that I herd, not fer of, sodainly
So greet a noise of thundring trumpës blow,
As though it shuld have départed the sky;
And, after that, within a whyle I sy
From the same grove, where the ladyes come out,
Of men of armës coming such a rout

As al the men on erth had been assembled
In that place, wel horsed for the nones,
Stering so fast, that al the erth[ë] trembled;
But for to speke of riches and [of] stones,
And men and hors, I trow, the largë wones
Of Prester John, ne al his tresory
Might not unneth have bought the tenth party!

Of their array who-so list herë more,
I shal reherse, so as I can, a lyte.
Out of the grove, that I spak of before,
I sy come first, al in their clokes whyte,
A company, that ware, for their delyt,
Chapëlets fresh of okës cereal
Newly spronge, and trumpets they were al.

On every trumpe hanging a brood banere
Of fyn tartarium, were ful richly bete;
Every trumpet his lordës armës bere;
About their nekkës, with gret perlës set,
Colers brode; for cost they would not lete,
As it would seme; for their scochones echoon
Were set about with many a precious stoon.

Their hors-harneys was al whyte also;
And after hem next, in on company,
Cámë kingës of armës, and no mo,
In clokës of whyte cloth of gold, richly;
Chapelets of greene on their hedes on hy,
The crownës that they on their scochones bere
Were set with perlë, ruby, and saphere,

And eek gret diamondës many on;
But al their hors-harneys and other gere
Was in a sute according, everichon,
As ye have herd the foresayd trumpets were;
And, by seeming, they were nothing to lere;
And their gyding they did so manerly.
And after hem cam a greet company

Of heraudës and pursevauntës eke
Arrayed in clothës of whyt veluët;
And hardily, they were nothing to seke
How they [up]on hem shuld the harneys set;
And every man had on a chapëlet;
Scóchones and eke hors-harneys, indede,
They had in sute of hem that before hem yede.

Next after hem, came in armour bright,
Al save their hedes, seemely knightës nyne;
And every clasp and nail, as to my sight,
Of their harneys, were of red gold fyne;
With cloth of gold, and furred with ermyne
Were the trappurës of their stedës strong,
Wyde and large, that to the ground did hong;

And every bosse of brydel and peitrel
That they had, was worth, as I would wene,
A thousand pound; and on their hedës, wel
Dressed, were crownës [al] of laurer grene,
The best [y-]mad that ever I had seen;
And every knight had after him ryding
Three henshmen, [up]on him awaiting;

Of whiche the first, upon a short tronchoun,
His lordës helme[t] bar, so richly dight,
That the worst was worth[y] the raunsoun
Of a[ny] king; the second a sheld bright
Bar at his nekke; the thridde bar upright
A mighty spere, ful sharpe [y-]ground and kene;
And every child ware, of leves grene,

A fresh chapelet upon his heres bright;
And clokes whyte, of fyn veluet they ware;
Their stedës trapped and [a]rayed right
Without[en] difference, as their lordës were.
And after hem, on many a fresh co[u]rsere,
There came of armed knightës such a rout
That they besprad the largë feld about.

And al they ware[n], after their degrees,
Chapëlets new, made of laurer grene,
Some of oke, and some of other trees;
Some in their handës berë boughës shene,
Some of laurer, and some of okës kene,
Some of hawthorn, and some of woodbind,
And many mo, which I had not in mind.

And so they came, their hors freshly stering
With bloody sownës of hir trompës loud;
Ther sy I many an uncouth disgysing
In the array of these knightës proud;
And at the last, as evenly as they coud,
They took their places in-middes of the mede,
And every knight turned his horse[s] hede

To his felawe, and lightly laid a spere
In the [a]rest, and so justës began
On every part about[en], here and there;
Som brak his spere, som drew down hors and man;
About the feld astray the stedës ran;
And, to behold their rule and governaunce,
I you ensure, it was a greet plesaunce.

And so the justës last an houre and more;
But tho that crowned were in laurer grene
Wan the pryse; their dintës were so sore
That ther was non ayenst hem might sustene;
And [than] the justing al was left of clene;
And fro their hors the nine alight anon;
And so did al the remnant everichon.

And forth they yede togider, twain and twain,
That to behold, it was a worldly sight,
Toward the ladies on the grenë plain,
That song and daunced, as I sayd now right.
The ladies, as soone as they goodly might,
They breke[n] of both the song and dance,
And yede to mete hem, with ful glad semblance.

And every lady took, ful womanly,
the hond a knight, and forth they yede
Unto a fair laurer that stood fast by,
With levës lade, the boughës of gret brede;
And to my dome, there never was, indede,
[A] man that had seen half so fair a tree;
For underneth it there might wel have be

An hundred persons, at their own plesaunce,
Shadowed fro the hete of Phebus bright
So that they shuld have felt no [greet] grevaunce
Of rain, ne hail, that hem hurt[ë] might.
The savour eek rejoice would any wight
That had be sick or melancolious,
It was so very good and vertuous.

And with gret reverence they enclyned low
[Un]to the tree, so sote and fair of hew;
And after that, within a litel throw,
Bigonne they to sing and daunce of-new;
Some song of love, some playning of untrew,
Environing the tree that stood upright;
And ever yede a lady and a knight.

And at the last I cast myn eye asyde,
And was ware of a lusty company
That came, roming out of the feld wyde,
Hond in hond, a knight and a lady;
The ladies alle in surcotes, that richly
Purfyled were with many a riche stoon;
And every knight of greene ware mantles on,

Embrouded wel, so as the surcotes were,
And everich had a chapelet on her hede;
Which did right wel upon the shyning here,
Made of goodly floures, whyte and rede.
The knightës eke, that they in hond lede,
In sute of hem, ware chapelets everichon;
And hem before went minstrels many on,

As harpës, pypës, lutës, and sautry,
Al in greene; and on their hedës bare
Of dyvers flourës, mad ful craftily,
Al in a sute, goodly chapelets they ware;
And so, dauncing, into the mede they fare,
In-mid the which they found a tuft that was
Al oversprad with flourës in compas.

Where[un]to they enclyned everichon
With greet reverence, and that ful humblely;
And, at the last[ë], there began anon
A lady for to sing right womanly
A bargaret in praising the daisy;
For, as me thought, among her notës swete,
She sayd, 'Si doucë est la Margarete.'

Thén they al answéred her infere,
So passingly wel, and so plesauntly,
Thát it was a blisful noise to here.
But I not [how], it happed sodainly,
As, about noon, the sonne so fervently
Wex hoot, that [al] the prety tender floures
Had lost the beautè of hir fresh coloures,

For-shronk with hete; the ladies eek to-brent,
That they ne wist where they hem might bestow.
The knightës swelt, for lak of shade ny shent;
And after that, within a litel throw,
The wind began so sturdily to blow,
That down goth al the flourës everichon
So that in al the mede there laft not on,

Save suche as socoured were, among the leves,
Fro every storme, that might hem assail,
Growing under hegges and thikke greves;
And after that, there came a storm of hail
And rain in-fere, so that, withouten fail,
The ladies ne the knightës n'ade o threed
Drye [up]on hem, so dropping was hir weed.

And when the storm was clene passed away,
Tho [clad] in whyte, that stood under the tree,
They felt[ë] nothing of the grete affray,
That they in greene without had in y-be.
To hem they yedë for routh and pitè,
Hem to comfort after their greet disese;
So fain they were the helpless for to ese.

Then was I ware how oon of hem in grene
Had on a crown[ë], rich and wel sitting;
Wherfore I demed wel she was a quene,
And tho in greene on her were awaiting.
The ladies then in whyte that were coming
Toward[ës] hem, and the knightës in-fere
Began to comfort hem and make hem chere.

The quene in whyte, that was of grete beautè,
Took by the hond the queen that was in grene,
And said, 'Suster, I have right greet pitè
Of your annoy, and of the troublous tene
Wherein ye and your company have been
So long, alas! and, if that it you plese
To go with me, I shal do you the ese

In al the pleisir that I can or may.'
Wherof the tother, humbly as she might,
Thanked her; for in right ill aray
She was, with storm and hete, I you behight.
And every lady then, anon-right,
That were in whyte, oon of hem took in grene
By the hond; which when the knightes had seen,

In lyke wyse, ech of hem took a knight
Clad in grene, and forth with hem they fare
[Un]to an heggë, where they, anon-right,
To make their justës, [lo!] they would not spare
Boughës to hew down, and eek treës square,
Wherewith they made hem stately fyres grete
To dry their clothës that were wringing wete.

And after that, of herbës that there grew,
They made, for blisters of the sonne brenning,
Very good and hoolsom ointments new,
Where that they yede, the sick fast anointing;
And after that, they yede about gadring
Plesaunt saladës, which they made hem ete,
For to refresh their greet unkindly hete.

The lady of the Leef then gan to pray
Her of the Flour, (for so to my seeming
They should[ë] be, as by their [quaint] array),
To soupe with her; and eek, for any thing,
That she should with her al her people bring.
And she ayein, in right goodly manere,
Thanketh her of her most freendly chere,

Saying plainly, that she would obey
With al her hert al her commaundëment.
And then anon, without lenger delay,
The lady of the Leef hath oon y-sent
For a palfray, [as] after her intent,
Arayed wel and fair in harneys of gold,
For nothing lakked, that to him long shold.

And after that, to al her company
She made to purvey hors and every thing
That they needed; and then, ful lustily,
Even by the herber where I was sitting,
They passed al, so plesantly singing,
That it would have comfórted any wight;
But then I sy a passing wonder sight:—

For then the nightingale, that al the day
Had in the laurer sete, and did her might
The hool servyse to sing longing to May,
Al sodainly [be]gan to take her flight;
And to the lady of the Leef forthright
She flew, and set her on her hond softly,
Which was a thing I marveled of gretly.

The goldfinch eek, that fro the medle-tree
Was fled, for hete, into the bushes cold,
Unto the lady of the Flour gan flee,
And on her hond he set him, as he wold,
And plesantly his wingës gan to fold;
And for to sing they pained hem both as sore
As they had do of al the day before.

And so these ladies rood forth a gret pace,
And al the rout of knightës eek in-fere;
And I, that had seen al this wonder case,
Thought [that] I would assay, in some manere,
To know fully the trouth of this matere,
And what they were that rood so plesantly.
And, when they were the herber passed by,

I drest me forth, and happed to mete anon
Right a fair lady, I you ensure;
And she cam ryding by herself aloon,
Al in whyte, with semblance ful demure.
I salued her, and bad good aventure
Might her befall, as I coud most humbly;
And she answered, 'My doughter, gramercy!'

'Madam,' quod I, 'if that I durst enquere
Of you, I wold fain, of that company,
Wit what they be that past by this herbere?'
And she ayein answéred right freendly:
'My fair daughter, al tho that passed hereby
In whyte clothing, be servants everichoon
Unto the Leef, and I my-self am oon.

See ye not her that crowned is,' quod she,
'Al in whyte?' 'Madamë,' quod I, 'yis!'
'That is Diane, goddesse of chastitè;
And, for bicause that she a maiden is,
In her hond the braunch she bereth, this
That agnus-castus men call properly;
And alle the ladies in her company

Which ye see of that herb[ë] chaplets were,
Be such as han kept ay hir maidenhede;
And al they that of laurer chaplets bere
Be such as hardy were and wan, indede,
Victorious name which never may be dede.
And al they were so worthy of hir hond,
[As] in hir tyme, that non might hem withstond.

And tho that werë chapelets on hir hede
Of fresh woodbind, be such as never were
To love untrew in word, [ne] thought, ne dede,
But ay stedfast; ne for plesaunce, ne fere,
Though that they shuld hir hertës al to-tere,
Would never flit, but ever were stedfast,
Til that their lyves there asunder brast.'

'Now, fair madam,' quod I, 'yet I would pray
Your ladiship, if that it might be,
That I might know[ë], by some maner way,
Sith that it hath [y-]lyked your beautè,
The trouth of these ladies for to tel me;
What that these knightës be, in rich armour;
And what tho be in grene, and were the flour;

And why that some did reverence to the tree,
And some unto the plot of flourës fair?'
'With right good wil, my fair doughter,' quod she,
'Sith your desyr is good and debonair.
Tho nine, crownèd, be very exemplair
Of all honour longing to chivalry,
And those, certain, be called the Nine Worthy,

Which ye may see [here] ryding al before,
That in hir tyme did many a noble dede,
And, for their worthines, ful oft have bore
The crowne of laurer-leves on their hede,
As ye may in your old[ë] bokes rede;
And how that he, that was a conquerour,
Had by laurer alway his most honour.

And tho that bere boughës in their hond
Of the precious laurer so notáble,
Be such as were, I wol ye understond,
Noble knightës of the Round[ë] Table,
And eek the Douseperes honourable;
Which they bere in signe of victory,
As witness of their dedes mightily.

Eek there be knightës olde of the Garter,
That in hir tyme did right worthily;
And the honour they did to the laurer
Is, for by [it] they have their laud hoolly,
Their triumph eek, and martial glory;
Which unto hem is more parfyt richesse
Than any wight imagine can or gesse.

For oon leef given of that noble tree
To any wight that hath don worthily,
And it be doon so as it ought to be,
Is more honour then any thing erthly.
Witnesse of Rome that founder was, truly,
Of all knighthood and dedës marvelous;
Record I take of Titus Livius.

And as for her that crowned is in greene,
It is Flora, of these flourës goddesse;
And al that here on her awaiting been,
It are such [folk] that loved idlenes,
And not delyte [had] of no busines
But for to hunt and hauke, and pley in medes,
And many other such [lyk] idle dedes.

And for the greet delyt and [the] plesaunce
They have [un]to the flour, so reverently
They unto it do such [gret] obeisaunce,
As ye may see.' 'Now, fair madame,' quod I,
'If I durst ask what is the cause and why
That knightës have the signe of [al] honour
Rather by the Leef than by the Flour?'

'Sothly, doughter,' quod she, 'this is the trouth:
For knightës ever should be persévering,
To seeke honour without feintyse or slouth,
Fro wele to better, in al maner thing;
In signe of which, with Levës ay lasting
They be rewarded after their degree,
Whos lusty grene may not appeired be,

But ay keping hir beautè fresh and greene;
For there nis storm [non] that may hem deface,
Hail nor snow, wind nor frostës kene;
Wherfore they have this propertè and grace.
And for the Flour within a litel space
Wol be [y-]lost, so simple of nature
They be, that they no grevance may endure,

And every storm wil blow hem sone away,
Ne they last not but [as] for a sesoun,
That is the cause, the very trouth to say,
That they may not, by no way of resoun,
Be put to no such occupacioun.'
'Madame,' quod I, 'with al my hool servyse
I thank you now, in my most humble wyse.

For now I am acértainèd throughly
Of every thing I désired to know.'
'I am right glad that I have said, sothly,
Ought to your pleysir, if ye wil me trow,'
Quod she ayein, 'but to whom do ye ow
Your servyce? and which wil ye honour,
Tel me, I pray, this yeer, the Leef or Flour?'

'Madame,' quod I, 'though I [be] leest worthy,
Unto the Leef I ow myn observaunce.'
'That is,' quod she, 'right wel don, certainly,
And I pray god to honour you avaunce,
And kepe you fro the wikked rémembraunce
Of Male-Bouche, and al his crueltè;
And alle that good and wel-condicioned be.

For here may I no lenger now abyde,
I must folowe the gret[ë] company
That ye may see yonder before you ryde.'
And forth[right], as I couth, most humblely,
I took my leve of her as she gan hy
After hem, as fast as ever she might;
And I drow hoomward, for it was nigh night;

And put al that I had seen in wryting,
Under support of hem that lust it rede.
O litel book, thou art so unconning,
How darst thou put thy-self in prees for drede?
It is wonder that thou wexest not rede,
Sith that thou wost ful lyte who shal behold
Thy rude langage, ful boistously unfold.

Explicit

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The cause of the success

When a cinema ran houseful.
Everyone in it got a boost
As the cause for the success
Till they are tried severally
In different pictures
And are miserably found false.
Time, space, eyes and collectiveness
Determine ones success or failure.
04.10.2004

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Flying To The Success

To fly to the success
How many wings should we have?
The wind, a great fortune.
No...
The wind, trying hard.
Not yet...
The wind, being wise.
Not right...
The wind, the desire that is strong.
Totally wrong...
So we need all of these.
Not complete...

--***---***----

The only wind we need is
Being ready for every case.
Hence, my message is that
Getting ready for everything is
Flying to the real success.

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I Have No Use For Odic Legions

I have no use for odic legions,
Or for the charm of elegiac play
For me, all verse should be off kilter
Not the usual way.

If only you knew what trash gives rise
To verse, without a tinge of shame,
Like bright dandelions by a fence,
Like burdock and like cocklebur.

An angry shout, the bracing smell of tar,
Mysterious mildew on the wall…
And out comes a poem, light-hearted, tender,
To your delight and mine.

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I Sit And Wait/For Nothing To Happen

I SIT AND WAIT/FOR NOTHING TO HAPPEN

I sit and wait
For nothing to happen,
For the time to pass
Until the time of my hospital visit-

The day has been long tiring difficult
With little done in work
And yet not without its small pleasures -

Perhaps I do not have so much to do anymore,
I am seventy now-

But I am still alive
And must go on with it -

My friend will probably never leave this hospital alive-

I still have time
There is a breeze now
Tomorrow will be cooler
And I will try to begin again then.

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Autumns and Springs for weather...! !

On our way, we may be
Stopped by twisting hurricanes
And might be troubled
By lashing heavy rains

Scorching sun may
Push us to stop and turn
In pricking hot sand
Our feet might burn

Winter would be seething
May haunt us with chilling cold
And would try its every trick
To check and keep us in its fold

Every journey has
Its share of hostile weather
We are sure to overcome them
If we try together

We just have to keep the faith
And trust each other
Our journey will have many more
Autumns and Springs for weather

26 August 2009

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Peace And Love For Me Are Forbidden

Peace and love for me
Are forbidden,
I have been entrusted
The national responsibility,
To show my hatred
To the environment,
Which I am rendering
With utmost sincerity and patriotism.

There dwells fear in my eyes
And my feet are prison bound,
I am being kept away
from light and fresh air.
I am an inhabitant of such a city,
As is destined to be ruined.

In my infertile soil
The plant of freedom
Does not deepen its roots.
I am in a condition like at war,
I was born on the saddle of a steed
And I was first fed
With an edge of a sword,
That made my tongue acidic,
I want to sputter it out.

(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)

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Peace and honor for new nation

Peace and honor should go together
It is big question to understand and bother
It involves no big or small nations
But question of deep attachment in relation

No country may want to live under shame
Popular will in this sense can’t be blamed
The tolerance has its limit and may anytime explode
At any time to attain the real freedom

Even bad rulers may be tolerated
If their steps are welfare oriented
Certain amount of misrule is also of less concern
Until it speaks of no bad intention and turn

The desert fox connived for higher ambition
It exceeded all civil norms and limitations
People could no more trust for their lives
Normal men had no means with peace to live

Country could afford no more burdens
It needed out burst with ignition all of sudden
One more fatal blow and nation was to be restored
To its full glory of past and honored

Finally it has seen the golden day
Peace has finally descended in its own way
Country has witnessed enough of bad blood
There is shortage of medicines, commodities and food

Libyan people are brave and blessed with natural wealth
There is enough to eat and manage for good health
If people are happy and remain united
It is befitting occasion to feel as librated

Any nation may feel proud with its ancient heritage
Only rulers take note of it and ably manage
Whether system is democratic or with semi pattern
It must be happily shared by all without any concern

We all must wish this young nation a prosperous start
Live in harmony with neighbors and never depart
From stated position of non-interference and neutrality
That shall certainly grant peaceful atmosphere with stability

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A Visit To The Seaside

When we pay a visit to the seaside,
We venture out onto the sands,
And wiggle our toes in soft golden grains,
And mould sandcastles with our hands.

We so like to collect lots of seashells,
Different shapes, sizes and hues,
Houses that once belonged to sea creatures,
In soft greys, pale beiges and blues.

We enjoy splashing out in the water,
Which the tide brings fast up the beach,
Catching our feet in the green seaweed strands,
Which are then dragged back out of reach.

It's a pleasure to ride on the donkeys,
All soft looking, sad eyed, but strong,
Each of them needing a love and a pat,
Before they'll carry us along.

There is the pier with its great attractions,
The prom stretching around the bay,
Candy floss, ice cream, hot dog stands,
Bandstand where musicians can play.

The sparkle, the glitter, and the shimmer,
Of sunshine way out on the sea,
The salty fresh air, and the blue. blue sky,
Means a 'holiday time' to me.

We take photos of Mother and Father,
Fast asleep in striped canvas chairs,
Obtained by us sneaking up quietly,
And just 'snapping' them unawares.

The amusement park, with a loud clamour,
The roundabouts spinning so quick,
The ghost train, ready to give us a scare,
And waltzers, which make us feel sick.

The old lady who tells you your fortune,
If you have the courage to ask.
The coconut shy and pinball machines,
Which will always take us to task.

The small boats waiting out by the jetty,
Take you for a trip out to sea,
With the gentle breeze and the rhythmic waves,
It's a wonderful place to be.

At the end of our day at the seaside,
With the sun rich red in the west,
We will all feel so calm and contented,
For our day's been one of the best.

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Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Law

The sun may be clouded, yet ever the sun
Will sweep on its course till the cycle is run.
And when onto chaos the systems are hurled,
Again shall the Builder reshape a new world.

Your path may be clouded, uncertain your goal;
Move on, for the orbit is fixed for your soul.
And though it may lead into darkness of night,
The torch of the Builder shall give you new light.

You were, and you will be: know this while you are,
Your spirit has travelled both long and afar.
It came from the Source, to the Source it returns;
The spark that was lighted, eternally burns.

It slept in the jewel, it leaped in the wave,
It roamed in the forest, it rose in the grave,
It took on strange garbs for long eons of years,
And now in the soul of yourself it appears.

From body to body your spirit speeds on;
It seeks a new form when the old one is gone;
And the form that it finds is the fabric you wrought
On the loom of the mind, with the fibre of thought.

As dew is drawn upward, in rain to descend,
Your thoughts drift away and in destiny blend.
You cannot escape them; or petty, or great,
Or evil, or noble, they fashion your fate.

Somewhere on some planet, sometime and somehow,
Your life will reflect all the thoughts of your now.
The law is unerring; no blood can atone;
The structure you rear you must live it alone.

From cycle to cycle, through time and through space,
Your lives with your longings will ever keep pace.
And all that you ask for, and all you desire,
Must come at your bidding, as flames out of fire.

Once list to that voice and all tumult is done,
Your life is the life of the Infinite One
In the hurrying race you are conscious of pause,
With love for the purpose and love for the cause.

You are your own devil, you are your own God,
You fashioned the paths that your footsteps have trod;
And no one can save you from error or sin,
Until you shall hark to the spirit within.

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Edgar Lee Masters

Ballad Of The Traitor’s Soul

'Twas the shrunken soul of the traitor
That whined in a coign of the dark;
And the fiends were aroused from slumber,
When Cerberus began to bark.

'Methought that I spoke' said Julian,
Who betrayed God's own demesne;
'And I,' said the ghost of Caesar,
'Heard the dying groans of the slain.'

'Twas the voice,' said the high priest Caiaphas,
'That uttered those words of awe,
'Ye have given a tithe of anise,
And broken the weightier law.'

Then cried out Judas Iscariot,
Who fled on the wings of the wind;
'Some one is counting the silver,
And wailing because I sinned.'

But spake up the seven devils,
That vexed Mary Magdalene;
'The days of our bondage are over,
We are no longer unclean.'

'Moreover the voice that called us,
Said 'Enter the souls of men,
For Belial rules this cycle,
And Mammon has triumphed again.''

Then the horrent jowls of Moloch,
Wrinkled into a grin,
And he growled 'tis the soul of the traitor,
Open and let him in.'

'Twas the shrunken soul of the traitor,
Like a mouse at the furnace door,
That stood in the haze of hades,
And trembled within its roar.

Then uprose the form of Satan,
And taking a crucible saith:
'The shrunken soul of the traitor
Shall suffer the second death.'

'Come anarchs of ancient cities,
And captains of torch and sword;
For hell hath never received one,
By God and fiends so abhorred.'

Then the shrunken soul of the traitor,
Pleaded that he might live:
'Ye have borne with Phillip and Herod,
And my sin ye ought to forgive.'

But Phillip came forward and mocked him:--
'The laws of God may atone
The crime of destroying a country,
Unless he destroys his own.'

So the horrent jowls of Moloch
Wrinkled into a grin,
And the crucible being ready,
They threw the renegade in;

And fed the fire underneath it,
Until in the crucible lay
A drop of green, bitter water
That smelled of death and decay.

Then Satan siezed hold of the crucible,
And drained the drop on the fire,
And a flame leaped up to the heavens,
And instantly did expire.

And there in the darkness that followed
The arch fiends with broken breath,
Fled far from the place of horror,
And the sight of the second death.

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Conversation between Me and my Heart

Its hard to live sometimes,
hard to die sometimes,
hard to survive sometimes,
hard to keep it in sometimes,

dumbshit watchu waitin for,
dont live like a hollow basket,
fill in some fruits,
there is brightness on the other side,
give life second chances,

it doesnt happen every time that who you loved pulled the trigger to shoot
i know you scatter in a million pieces of glass,
and you wounded yourself in collecting them and putting it back together,
i understand that the pain was absolute!

but its mistakenly said it happens once,
next time might happen with greater intensity,
remember when the glass when wasnt broken,
was filled with the intoxication of wine from the top till its root,

its hard to fall on your own sometimes,
hard to standup sometimes,
hard to walk again sometimes,
hard to move on sometimes,

but hell yeah, i stood up with much greater determination,
tried searching everywhere since long,
all went in vain,

the feeling of failing over and over brought me pain,
hope flying away,
disappointing the dreams once again i mended,
i felt like driving in the wrong lane,
but you could have pretended,
i tried many people,
they just flushed me down the drain,
and i fall for it again and again,
this is what happens when the heart conquers,
you forget to use your brain,

its hard to rewind sometimes,
hard to staybehind sometimes,
hard to stop cryin sometimes,

I found someone really like me,
i thought this would be great,
i trust myself better than the rest i hate,
i soon fell in love with that me,
felt like together to be,
she showed me new things like i showed to people,
took me outta my mind, over the seas

My heart of glass,
felt good as new,
thought of you....
...with together to be with,
told you what i felt like...
how stupid of me,
i just forgot what i used to be....

its hard to understand what im about to say sometimes,
it would be hard for you to think about it and not cry over it sometimes,

I Love You is the only sentence
and not a question which demands an answer,

you have no idea how it feels like how the heart gets slaughtered,
how much it hurts when you say the 3 stupid words and dont hear it back,
im no more a lancer,

oops, i missed!
that was a bouncer,
its nobodies fault and no ones to blame!
Love it self is a silly stupid game......

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Liberty and Justice For All

On this day, September 11,2012, I sit here in my soul and reflect about my fellow countrymen and countrywomen who reflect back to me their souls, their courage, their resolve and strength. As an American, the spirit of America is born in me, as I am born in the spirit of America. The will of not just myself, but the will of the people, of us all, moves in me this day.
Our lives, our country, changed drastically on September 11,2001, but our character, our principles of freedom, and the constitution of our nation and our souls did not change but persevered and remained in the forefront of our breasts as we braved the unknown world ahead of us. In God's heaven, or the heaven of our hearts, the lives we lost, now venerate us as we mourn their loss. There is no memorial as grand, no memorial as beautiful, than the memorial we hold in our hearts of the stories of courage, valor, and bravery exhibited on that day. A peaceful sorrow ascends from the mass graves of death, from the Pentagon, from United Airlines Flight 93, and the World Trade Center; this sorrow, this peace from the dead souls mouth whispers to me in vibrant silence,

'We shall be remembered, we shall live forever. In your hearts, our freedom lives.'

What has always disconcerted me is what should be impossible, is possible, and what should be possible, is impossible. A tragedy, an act of violent malice, like Sept.11, should never be possible in life. Indignation and hatred should never burn so immensely as to kill the soul that kills others; but it happened and it still happening.
Now let's work to make the impossible come true. Let's not question ourselves but move with more force, more swiftly to the American Dream; the equality of man and woman, the opportunity for all to prosper, the toleration of all religion, the respect for the rights of the individual, the freedom of thought and the freedom to eat its fruits, the ability to compromise, Justice! America we must become the ideal for the world to follow, we must beat our blood in freedom everywhere we go, we must live in unity, and with resolve stand our ground! This is our peace; this is what the dead souls of 9/11 whisper.... Liberty and Justice for all!

To the Servicemembers who fought, lived and died for our freedoms….

Bless the courageous souls who fought valiantly
And with honor and dignity acted gallantly
In our hearts, your hearts march brave
With solemn virtue, and our minds grave
We cry 'look at all the lives thy save! '
March On!

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