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The White Dance

1. Music again is heard.
The pianist stood up to name a dance.
And in the view of all
I go to You to have now my chance.

R.: I ask today for dancing only You, and You from all.
And that's not a mistake, that a dance is waltz.
Like a wind whirl the dance will turn us,
Oh, this white dance will surely serve us,
If it will make us real friends tonight.

2. Waltz fly above the earth,
Kind as a friend, and white as a snow.
May be this waltz for long
We shall remember in our thoughts.

R.

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I Cannot Save You from Yourself

I cannot save you from yourself,
from your father who died,
from your mother
who likes to quarrel with you
from every man that has broken your heart

but I can be there for you
when you need me,
try and bring tranquillity
after we visited your mother
listen and try to understand
about the things that worry you

and hugging and kissing
I do fairly well
and she looked at me
quite carefully
as if I had spoken pure truths.


(In answer to Sally-Ann Murray/Reference: Analysis by Sally-Ann Murray.)

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Patrick White

What's To Keep You From Dancing?

What's to keep you from dancing if you've got nothing to live for?
Dance naked in your tears. Cry through your laughter.
Plunge into a black hole and come out the other side,
renewed, a virgin, no more feathers and tar pits.
No more dead petals in a dry fountain. Absurd, isn't it?
When you begin to compare skulls with the moon,
not at all what you imagined you would see, not even
the prevailing consensus of delusion that passes for reality,
this neo-primordial soup of logos and memes
we're all swimming in like fish in radioactive water.
This pre-Cambrian efoliation of multitudinous sentience
re-inventing cuneiform to write it all down in the Burgess Shale
three hundred million years from now, fossil by fossil
and one among myriads, the lucky lottery ticket
of a fish with a spinal cord that will lead eventually
back to the saddest excuses in the world for the likes of us.

I've stood on bridges late at night by myself
watching the waters flow as if my mindstream
were going on without me, and the pain were too much
even for a poet to sublimate his way out of,
and I've lived my way to the end of a labyrinth of cul de sacs
and wearied of their chronic recurrence like a water wheel
at an abandoned mill that used to gamble on a river boat
things would stay afloat long enough to make shore
before the ship goes down. The crucial point here
is not to live with regrets as if you had something personally
to do with all of it. There's no starmap
for the burrs of the sorrows that smoulder
like brown constellations in the slums of an inflammable zodiac.

You diminish your arrogance at the expense of your humility
that's grown as gigantic as God, when you think
you know enough about the unknowable to fix the blame
as if you'd just come up with a new alibi for you and the world.
Could be a curse. Could be a blessing. Could be
an improbable concourse of unforeseen events
that's been chain-reacting well before
the infinite beginnings of the multiverse.

You cut your skin with razors as if you were
playing tic tac toe on your thighs, hoping someone
would come along like an antidote and suck the poison out.
But life isn't sweet when you've learned
to weep through your fangs. Go ask the moon.
There's no holy crusade going on as if the rose
aroused its petals to go to war against the infidelity of its thorns.
Even the predators, in their own way, are the children of their prey.
The longer the fangs. The sharper the talons. The harder the armour.
Ever seen what an owl can do to a snake? Yes,
things can be bad, but not necessarily for your sake.

They can be good, too, but if you think it's for you,
you're going to end up telling lies about suffering in your sleep
like a flashflood in a dry creekbed trying to wake the frogs
that have burrowed deep into the starmud for the duration
by singing to themselves in the rain as if they'd just had a revelation
it's wet on the moon again. I'd could give you any one
of a thousand interpretations of your eyes. I could
turn your sacred snake's tongue where the rivers part
into a green witching wand twitching over the watersheds
of mystic lightning. I could scry the self-sacrifice of your next breath
like the smoke of a distant fire on an autumn hillside
and try to explain the fireflies as the popular demotic
of the proto-nostratic of the stars and how that relates
to the scars on your leg. Befuddle you into a salvation
that would last at least a couple of decades before
you could ever find your way back by your own lights
to where you were going with the rain before I met you.

You're not wrong. You're not right. I could say that and mean it
as easily as a principled astrolabe looks upon a starless night
and doesn't try to see what isn't there. It isn't dark.
It isn't bright out. It's clear all the way to the next star
if you don't bind yourself to a mental atmosphere
where the mind suffers at the hands of its own weather
like a child that thinks it needs to be taught to wake up
from its own nightmare when, in fact, once things
begin to bottom out it's as over as a bubble rising to the top.

Pop! No more delusion, no more enlightenment.
No more mirages taking charge of the wellsprings
in the desert of stars in ruins around Jericho
as the wind shapes the sands in an hourglass
like a potter or a sculptor into a sea of eyes
that can actually flow like tears of glass in the heat
you can drink from like a dragon on the moon
just before it begins to rain. And the grasslands awaken
of their own accord. And everywhere guitar-shaped gazelles
are getting up on their own four legs like amputees
that haven't forgotten how to dance to the elegant thunder
of their own leopard skin drums. And the rain
comes back to your drought-stricken eyes again
and runs like rivulets and the unravelled threads of your lifelines
through the starmud gullies of your brain breaking
into waterlilies of insight on the banks of your mindstream
tempering the broken swords of moonlight
that are offered to it in tribute, not surrender,
because there is no war, into alloys of reality and dream,
delusion, enlightenment, imagination and awakening
no one before you has ever fallen upon like a dancer
who was cut to the quick by a life she's not been out of step with
by not so much as one angstrom of a wavelength of a firefly
for all the billions of lightyears along the way
you've been leading a pilgrimage of shadows deeper into the night
like a calendar of shepherd moons
you've been slashing like a sundial on your legs
moments away from the shrine of broken promises
you intend to keep like a vow you made to yourself
sleepwalking your way across the corals of your grief in bare feet
as if sooner or later you could tread all that blood into wine.

Put your dancing shoes on. Crystal slippers. Moonboots. Winged heels.
Stop carving your body like a deathmask you can wear in the world
like an alphabet with omega as its only child.
Why lie down on the grave of that morose saint of clowns
you prayed to deliver you from yourself like the spade
you were using to dig your own ditch on the moon
for the mass assassination of the innocent and obscene?
I'm a poet. And to me you're as beautiful inside and out
as a blank piece of paper after the first snow
has had a taste of moonlight and softly glows in the dark.
Not Joan of Arc singing at the stake of her own serpent-fire
feathering her body in flames, in boas of smoke to cover up
the glyphs of the bird tracks on the secret loveletter
she's been writing to herself in the flesh to really mean
what she says when she says I want to live, I want to love,
I want to give and receive the way I breathe without
meaning anything by it. I want to see, because I have
brave eyes, deeply into the light, into the dark, the mystery
of a life that keeps on going without knowing where it ends.

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Robert Louis Stevenson

I Will Make You Brooches

I will make you brooches and toys for your delight
Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.
I will make a palace fit for you and me
Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.

I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room,
Where white flows the river and bright blows the broom,
And you shall wash your linen and keep your body white
In rainfall at morning and dewfall at night.

And this shall be for music when no one else is near,
The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear!
That only I remember, that only you admire,
Of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire.

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I will make you bastards pay

I will make you all pay.
Victory will be mine one day.
And then I will of made all of you pay.
Victory will be mine.

I will replenish everything.
You must pay.
The justice bollocks system.
Didnt make you pay.
So now I will.

I will serve my own justice.
Then justice will prevel.

Once Ive dished my justice
And sold it on a plate.

I will of made you pay
Thats a must do
On my list.

The voices tell me so.
They say
You have to make them pay.

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I will make you my destiny

Come sit besides me for a short while,
In my eyes I'll capture your picture,
and I will make you my destiny.


On papery heart I will draw your sketch,
will hide it in the corner easy to fetch,
I will make you my destiny.


You will remain always there,
my heartbeat you will be for ever,
I will make you my destiny.


You will understand whatever I say,
and I will understand what you say,
I will make you my destiny.


I want you and only you,
you're my life's prayer/ destination true,
I will make you my destiny.


renukakkar 17.2.2012
Copyright@2012

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I chose you, only mine and our's

I chose you,
I chose you, Oh spirit of truth,
The world's people form all their Conspiracy,
And I be here, their Disguise is too much of a lie,
Why we cry?

I chose you, Oh numerous Creation's,
And the world be envy that love,
That our Supreme belief in truth,
Became their Disguise,

The Society of today is an immoral flux,
That salvation is hard on earth, for it's like hell on earth for heaven,
Profanity and Heaven, do they seem similar,
No! I reject,
That these old verses from Christ washed Creation's,
And we can surpass those who will never take us to heaven,
Other's are hell,
Them they be coming to take us from the Numerous earth,
To eat the hell of profanity from their lies,
All their Conspiracy,
A disguise to sell our BirthRight.

Will Jesus take us to Heaven,
It's really true,
For all my lover's made I profane and lie,
Will they take me to heaven,
Now I really doubt those whom I really love,
Only Jesus will take us to Heaven in a dis Armageddon time's.

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Tonight I Will Make You Mine

Tonight it's just you and me
Give in my heart ecstasy

Tonight my dreams will come true
In my arms I will hold you

Tonight I won't switch off light
To see you and feel alright

Tonight I will kiss you jaan
Like pellets of a popgun

Tonight we will sing and dance
In breathtaking wild romance

Tonight I will let you know
I am like your sweet shadow

Your body is like old wine
Tonight I will make you mine

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This Will Make You Laugh

This will make you laugh,
I staked my dreams on you.
This will make you laugh,
They never did come true.
I took a chance on the one romance,
I vowed it couldn't miss.
But I should have known to never judge,
A heart borrowed kiss.
This will make you laugh,
I once believed in you.
And for all my love,
You didn't see it through.
Of all the fools, I break the rule.
I love you still you see,
This will make you laugh,
But it's not funny to me.
(last verse repeated)

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I love you with all my heart.

One of the hardest things in life is trying to explain how much you love someone.....
When I'm with you the world freezes,
Nothing else matters,
Only you and me,
Being with you is all I want,
You keep my heart beating every second,
I fall in love with you more and more everyday,
Your just so perfect to me,
and that will never change,
as long as I live.
Your my prince charming,
The only one for me,
I love you with all my heart.
By: ~Brandi Dybala~ *11/27/2010*

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If It Will Make You Happy

I will disregard all my feelings and emotions for you
If it will make you happy
There’s nothing I won’t do
As long as if it will make you happy
You should know that by now
I’ll do anything
If it will make you happy
I’ll climb the highest mountain
Swim the deepest sea
So you can see
How much you mean to me
And if it will make you happy
I’ll be yours forever
Just say the word
I’ll be there
In sickness and health
Through the good times and bad
I’ll be there
If it will make you happy

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You're All I Am

I never knew a man would be so lonely
The life of a treated man so wrong
But when the odds were all against me
You gave me the strength to carry on
You gave me a new start, so i will give you my heart
You, you are my life, you're all i am
Only you can understand the way i am
You never give me enough of your love
I need more and more each day
Honey, can't you see the only thing i can be sure of
Is that something real has come my way
Oh, so i believe my heart, though sometimes it tears me apart
You, you are my life, you're all i am
Baby it's you, you are my life, you're all i am
Only you can understand the way i am
You know i live my life for you
You are my life, you're all i am
Ooh baby it's true, you are my life, you're all i am
Only you can understand the way i am

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I Watch You From the Window When You Pick Up Poodle Doo

Is that your moody poodle,
You feed heated noodles to...
When I see you,
Rushing home from school?

I want to say to you,
That I could walk your poodle too.
And scoop up all that poo poo just for you.

I watch you from the window,
When you pick up poodle doo!
I imagine if I helped out...
You would not have to rush from school?
To noodle up your poodle.
Then pick up poodle doo.

Is that your moody poodle,
You feed heated noodles to...
When I see you,
Rushing home from school?

I want to say to you,
That I could walk your poodle too.
And scoop up all that poo poo just for you.

If you had a cat,
You wouldn't have to do that.
You would have so much free time.
I had a cat but he got fat...
And died when I chased him,
With a turkey butt he swallowed...
I was thawing.
For some greens I was going to buy!
He was the only cat I had,
That did not have nine lives!

I watch you from the window,
When you pick up poodle doo!
I imagine if I helped out...
You would not have to rush from school?
To noodle up your poodle.
Then pick up poodle doo.
I will do that,
If you want me to?

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Why you want to?

Why at all would you want to ruin?
When I have covered long distance to see you in?
I did not care for what came on the way
I only waited for the golden day

I wanted to fly high with you
I had made it almost through
Something was puzzling you inside
I was there to cover you from all the sides

I am like mad river rushing to meet
Removing hurdles on the way to greet
Nothing stops me from reaching point
I want to make it permanent joint

Will I land in dreamy island or see the reality?
Will my quest end in total infinity?
I will wait for none and surge in spate
I have nothing more in my belly to state

Oh, dream come and help to realize
I have nothing more for you to oblige
I have only one mission to be accomplished
Journey is not over and yet to be finished

It is constant flow that keep me alive
Distant memory keeps me strong and live
I have refused beautiful beaches and shores
Only with the sole aim to embrace you and adore

I sshall calm down and stabilize?
Help and build the dreams to realize
Not a single thread to miss in making nest
I shall be with you to offer the best

Don’t dash my hopes to the ground
I have all along desperately found
My dream man of future around
The waters have receded with no more sound

It is all calm, silent zones and no noise
Whispering the tone without any voice
You fill the rainbow with unknown colors
Don’t ruin it with eye drops or tears

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You Will Make Them Proud

What's in a title you may well ask,
Think carefully before you name,
A nom de plume is akin to a mask,
It can be beautiful but it can also maim.

When you're naming a child be wary,
What you call them is theirs for life,
Some names given can be scary,
Remarks made can cut like a knife.

A name can be just like an open wound,
Inside and out it can fester,
If you choose a title that is finely tuned,
They will not then become the court jester.

You may well think you don't really care,
It's your child you can do what you want,
They have to live with it so please be aware,
Your decision could come back to haunt.

When they mature and grow older,
In their title they may well feel ashamed,
Their attitude to you will grow colder,
It will be you who is blamed.

Some human beings can be very cruel,
To abuse they'll use any excuse,
Don't let your child be made feel a fool,
Name them wisely lest they suffer abuse.

Just like in poetry a title can rhyme,
Please ensure you give that some thought,
Some names given should be classed as a crime,
As they can leave the recipient distraught.

I tell you this story as a warning,
My mother entitled me Jock,
Some of the names I'm now adorning,
Have placed me in a state of shock.

You love your child so try to be kind,
That title on them you've endowed,
Will be theirs forever keep that in mind,
choose wisely and,

‘' You Will Make Them Proud ‘'

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A Letter From the Trenches to a School Friend

I have not brought my Odyssey
With me here across the sea;
But you'll remember, when I say
How, when they went down Sparta way,
To sandy Sparta, long ere dawn
Horses were harnessed, rations drawn,
Equipment polished sparkling bright,
And breakfasts swallowed (as the white
Of eastern heavens turned to gold) -
The dogs barked, swift farewells were told.
The sun springs up, the horses neigh,
Crackles the whip thrice-then away!
From sun-go-up to sun-go-down
All day across the sandy down
The gallant horses galloped, till
The wind across the downs more chill
Blew, the sun sank and all the road
Was darkened, that it only showed
Right at the end the town's red light
And twilight glimmering into night.

The horses never slackened till
They reached the doorway and stood still.
Then came the knock, the unlading; then
The honey-sweet converse of men,
The splendid bath, the change of dress,
Then - oh the grandeur of their Mess,
The henchmen, the prim stewardess!
And oh the breaking of old ground,
The tales, after the port went round!
(The wondrous wiles of old Odysseus,
Old Agamemnon and his misuse
Of his command, and that young chit
Paris - who didn't care a bit
For Helen - only to annoy her
He did it really, K.T.A.)
But soon they led amidst the din
The honey-sweet - in,
Whose eyes were blind, whose soul had sight,
Who knew the fame of men in fight -
Bard of white hair and trembling foot,
Who sang whatever God might put
Into his heart.
And there he sung,
Those war-worn veterans among,
Tales of great war and strong hearts wrung,
Of clash of arms, of council's brawl,
Of beauty that must early fall,
Of battle hate and battle joy
By the old windy walls of Troy.
They felt that they were unreal then,
Visions and shadow-forms, not men.
But those the Bard did sing and say
(Some were their comrades, some were they)
Took shape and loomed and strengthened more
Greatly than they had guessed of yore.
And now the fight begins again,
The old war-joy, the old war-pain.
Sons of one school across the sea
We have no fear to fight -

And soon, oh soon, I do not doubt it,
With the body or without it,
We shall all come tumbling down
To our old wrinkled red-capped town.
Perhaps the road up llsley way,
The old ridge-track, will be my way.
High up among the sheep and sky,
Look down on Wantage, passing by,
And see the smoke from Swindon town;
And then full left at Liddington,
Where the four winds of heaven meet
The earth-blest traveller to greet.
And then my face is toward the south,
There is a singing on my mouth
Away to rightward I descry
My Barbury ensconced in sky,
Far underneath the Ogbourne twins,
And at my feet the thyme and whins,
The grasses with their little crowns
Of gold, the lovely Aldbourne downs,
And that old signpost (well I knew
That crazy signpost, arms askew,
Old mother of the four grass ways).
And then my mouth is dumb with praise,
For, past the wood and chalkpit tiny,
A glimpse of Marlborough -!
So I descend beneath the rail
To warmth and welcome and wassail.

This from the battered trenches - rough,
Jingling and tedious enough.
And so I sign myself to you:
One, who some crooked pathways knew
Round Bedwyn: who could scarcely leave
The Downs on a December eve:
Was at his happiest in shorts,
And got - not many good reports!
Small skill of rhyming in his hand -
But you'll forgive - you'll understand.

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The Truce And The Peace

(NOVEMBER, 1918)
Peace now for every fury has had her day,
Their natural make is moribund, they cease,
They carry the inward seeds of quick decay,
Build breakwaters for storm but build on peace.
The mountains' peace answers the peace of the stars,
Our petulances are cracked against their term.
God built our peace and plastered it with wars,
Those frescoes fade, flake off, peace remains firm.
In the beginning before light began
We lay or fluttered blind in burdened wombs,
And like that first so is the last of man,
When under death for husband the amorous tombs
Are covered and conceived; nine months go by
No midwife called, nine years no baby's cry.

II
Peace now, though purgatory fires were hot
They always had a heart something like ice
That coldly peered and wondered, suffering not
Nor pleased in any park, nor paradise
Of slightly swelling breasts and beautiful arms
And throat engorged with very carnal blood.
It coldly peered and wondered, 'Strong God your charms
Are glorious, I remember solitude.
Before youth towered we knew a time of truth
To have eyes was nearly rapture.' Peace now, for war
Will find the cave that childhood found and youth.
Ten million lives are stolen and not one star
Dulled; wars die out, life will die out, death cease,
Beauty lives always and the beauty of peace.

III
Peace to the world in time or in a year,
In the inner world I have touched the instant peace.
Man's soul's a flawless crystal coldly clear,
A cold white mansion that he yields in lease
To tenant dreams and tyrants from the brain
And riotous burnings of the lovelier flesh.
We pour strange wines and purples all in vain.
The crystal remains pure, the mansion fresh.
All the Asian bacchanals and those from Thrace
Lived there and left no wine-mark on the walls.
What were they doing in that more sacred place
All the Asian and the Thracian bacchanals?
Peace to the world to-morrow or in a year,
Peace in that mansion white, that crystal clear.

IV
Peace now poor earth. They fought for freedom's sake,
She was starving in a corner while they fought.
They knew not whom they stabbed by Onega Lake,
Whom lashed from Archangel, whom loved, whom sought.
How can she die, she is the blood unborn,
The energy in earth's arteries beating red,
The world will flame with her in some great morn,
The whole great world flame with her, and we be dead.
Here in the west it grows by dim degrees,
In the east flashed and will flame terror and light.
Peace now poor earth, peace to that holier peace
Deep in the soul held secret from all sight.
That crystal, the pure home, the holier peace,
Fires flaw not, scars the crudest cannot crease.

V
South of the Big Sur River up the hill
Three graves are marked thick weeds and grasses heap,
Under the forest there I have stood still
Hours, thinking it the sweetest place to sleep , . .
Strewing all-sufficient death with compliments
Sincere and unrequired, coveting peace . . .
Boards at the head not stones, the text's rude paints
Mossed, rain-rubbed . . . wasting hours of scanty lease
To admire their peace made perfect. From that height
But for the trees the whole valley might be seen,
But for the heavy dirt, the eye-pits no light
Enters, the heavy dirt, the grass growing green
Over the dirt, the molelike secretness,
The immense withdrawal, the dirt, the quiet, the peace.

VI
Women cried that morning, bells rocked with mirth,
We all were glad a long while afterward,
But still in dreary places of the earth
A hundred hardly fed shall labor hard
To clothe one belly and stuff it with soft meat,
Blood paid for peace but still those poor shall buy it,
This sweat of slaves is no good wine but yet
Sometimes it climbs to the brain. Be happy and quiet,
Be happy and live, be quiet or God might wake.
He sleeps in the mountain that is heart of man's heart,
He also in promontory fists, and make
Of stubborn-muscled limbs, he will not start
For a little thing ... his great hands grope, unclose,
Feel out for the main pillars . . . pull down the house . . .

VII
After all, after all we endured, who has grown wise?
We take our mortal momentary hour
With too much gesture, the derisive skies
Twinkle against our wrongs, our rights, our power.
Look up the night, starlight's a steadying draught
For nerves at angry tension. They have all meant well,
Our enemies and the knaves at whom we've laughed,
The liars, the clowns in office, the kings in hell,
fhey have all meant well in the main . . . some of them tried
The mountain road of tolerance . . . They have made war,
Conspired, oppressed, robbed, murdered, lied and lied,
Meant well, played the loud fool . . . and star by star
Winter Orion pursues the Pleiades
In pale and huge parade, silence and peace.

VIII
That ice within the soul, the admonisher
Of madness when we're wildest, the unwinking eye
That measures all things with indifferent stare,
Choosing far stars to check near objects by,
That quiet lake inside and underneath,
Strong, undisturbed by any angel of strife,
Being so tranquil seems the presence of death,
Being so central seems the essence of life.
Is it perhaps that death and life make truce
In neutral zone while their old feud beyond
Fires the towered cities? Surely for a strange use
He sphered that eye of flawless diamond.
It does not serve him but with line and rod
Measures him, how indeed should God serve God?

IX
It does not worship him, it will not serve.
And death and life within that Eye combine,
Within that only untorturable nerve
Of those that make a man, within that shrine
Which there is nothing ever can profane,
Where life and death are sister and brother and lovers,
The golden voice of Christ were heard in vain,
The holy spirit of God visibly hovers.
Small-breasted girls, lithe women heavy-haired,
Loves that once grew into our nerves and veins,
Yours Freedom was desire that deeper dared
To the citadel where mastery remains,
Yours to the spirit . . . discount the penny that is
Ungivable, this Eye, this God, this Peace.
All in a simple innocence I strove
To give myself away to any power,
Wasting on women's bodies wealth of love,
Worshipping every sunrise mountain tower;
Some failure mocked me still denying perfection,
Parts of me might be spended not the whole,
I sought of wine surrender and self-correction,
I failed, I could not give away my soul.
Again seeking to give myself I sought
Outward in vain through all things, out through God,
And tried all heights, all gulfs, all dreams, all thought.
I found this wisdom on the wonderful road,
The essential Me cannot be given away,
The single Eye, God cased in blood-shot clay.

XI
Peace to the world in time or in a year,
But always all our lives this peace was ours.
Peace is not hard to have, it lies more near
Than breathing to the breast. When brigand powers
Of anger or pain or the sick dream of sin
Break our soul's house outside the ruins we weep.
We look through the breached wall, why there within
All the red while our peace was lying asleep.
Smiling in dreams while the broad knives drank blood,
The robbers triumphed, the roof burned overhead,
The eternal living and untroubled God
Lying asleep upon a lily bed.
Men screamed, the bugles screamed, walls broke in the air,
We never knew till then that He was there.

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Will You Show Me How That's Done?

'Daddy?
What does creativity mean? '

Well...
It means when someone takes nothing,
and makes something out of it!

'Huh?
That can't be right!
Mommy says you do that all the time...
And I have never seen you do it!
Will you show me how that's done?
Daddy?
Why do you always look at me like that? '

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You Stay All Up In My Stuff

Why do you stay all up in my stuff...
Feeding?
As if to nurture from my thoughts,
To take and twist.
Where are those of your own?
Do you have any independent,
Within you that sit?

Why do you do this?
To prove what and to whom?
You should have a lot of space in your head,
To give your own thoughts room.
Why do you stay all up in my stuff...
Feeding?
To leave others believing you can think.

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Are You Like All the Rest?

Are You Like All the Rest?
Are you like all the rest?
Just want to use me for sex?
I’m just tired of it,
So just go beat on your chest.
I will not waste my time,
I have better things to do then hear you whine.
Don’t tell me you want to be my Valentine…
O.K I’ll try you out for fun,
Don’t think you’re the only one.

Written by Christina Sunrise on September 6,2011
www.purplepoems.com www.christinasunrise.com

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Only Me And Me Loneliness

only me and me alone
make me feel i am wanted
desired, needed, longed and craved for
only you, i wanted to spend the rest of my life
for me and me alone, i felt i am me
i am really worth of your unconditional love
i love you honey and i will always will
i will never stop loving you
and i will never get tired loving you honey
because,
you are my everything and you are my wonderful world..
you are my beautiful and soulful honey....!

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