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The Curtain Closes

I sit here again
Starting once more
Lost yet another friend
And, now I feel as if I've lost the war

Shattered and broken
Now I lay bleeding
A knife through the heart-
To stop the beating

So empty-so lost...
So beauitfully broken
I cry and I sob
On the floor choking

I give up
-This time for certain
I'm done with this play
Please just close the curtain!

And, one single tear drop
Slides down my cheek
As I pray to the unknown
To stop feeling so weak

And, then I stand
And I start walking
I open my mouth;
But, it's like I'm not even talking

I really can't take it-
It's too hard to believe
I did it again!
And, now I can't even see

So now I am falling
And, failing this test
As I hear death calling
I lay here a mess

© Copyright 2010 Nicole Settimi/Dark Lyric Poetry
Dark Lyric Poetry by The Dark Artist Nicole Settimi

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Pray

So here we stand again
Like dust on mother earth
And we hide our faces in our dreams

Only emptiness where angels flew - high on golden wings
And the voice of god has vanished now - lost inside our dreams
But the only way to go is heaven

All we can do is pray
In the darkness we stand with the world in our hands
And we pray
For a better tomorrow
We wait

Far beyond the horizon
There's a sound in the sky
The voice of glory I hear a silent cry
When the heroes of yesterday are gone

All we can do is pray
In the darkness we hide and we wait for the light
And we pray
Oh we pray
Let us pray

I've seen the darkside of the moon in my dreams
Now I know it ain't a place to live for us all
All our gods creation is dead an gone
Now we stand like children all alone forever

All we can do is pray
Forever and forever and forever more
For a better tomorrow - we wait

Pray
There's a light in the dark
And it's shining so bright on our way
Still there is hope on our way
And we pray
Oh

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The Restoration Of The Works Of Art In Italy

LAND of departed fame! whose classic plains
Have proudly echo'd to immortal strains;
Whose hallow'd soil hath given the great and brave
Daystars of life, a birth-place and a grave;
Home of the Arts! where glory's faded smile
Sheds lingering light o'er many a mouldering pile;
Proud wreck of vanish'd power, of splendour fled,
Majestic temple of the mighty dead!
Whose grandeur, yet contending with decay,
Gleams through the twilight of thy glorious day;
Though dimm'd thy brightness, riveted thy chain,
Yet, fallen Italy! rejoice again!
Lost, lovely realm! once more 'tis thine to gaze
On the rich relics of sublimer days.

Awake, ye Muses of Etrurian shades,
Or sacred Tivoli's romantic glades;
Wake, ye that slumber in the bowery gloom
Where the wild ivy shadows Virgil's tomb;
Or ye, whose voice, by Sorga's lonely wave,
Swell'd the deep echoes of the fountain's cave,
Or thrill'd the soul in Tasso's numbers high,
Those magic strains of love and chivalry:
If yet by classic streams ye fondly rove,
Haunting the myrtle vale, the laurel grove;
Oh ! rouse once more the daring soul of song,
Seize with bold hand the harp, forgot so long,
And hail, with wonted pride, those works revered
Hallow'd by time, by absence more endear'd.

And breathe to Those the strain, whose warrior-might
Each danger stemm'd, prevail'd in every fight;
Souls of unyielding power, to storms inured,
Sublimed by peril, and by toil matured.
Sing of that Leader, whose ascendant mind
Could rouse the slumbering spirit of mankind:
Whose banners track'd the vanquish'd Eagle's flight
O'er many a plain, and dark sierra's height;
Who bade once more the wild, heroic lay
Record the deeds of Roncesvalles' day;
Who, through each mountain-pass of rock and snow,
An Alpine huntsman chased the fear-struck foe;
Waved his proud standard to the balmy gales,
Rich Languedoc ! that fan thy glowing vales,
And 'midst those scenes renew'd the achievements high,
Bequeath'd to fame by England's ancestry.

Yet, when the storm seem'd hush'd, the conflict past,
One strife remain'd–the mightiest and the last!
Nerved for the struggle, in that fateful hour
Untamed Ambition summon'd all his power;
Vengeance and Pride, to frenzy roused, were there,
And the stern might of resolute Despair.
Isle of the free! 'twas then thy champions stood,
Breasting unmoved the combat's wildest flood;
Sunbeam of battle! then thy spirit shone,
Glow'd in each breast, and sank with life alone.

Oh, hearts devoted! whose illustrious doom
Gave there at once your triumph and your tomb,
Ye, firm and faithful, in the ordeal tried
Of that dread strife, by Freedom sanctified;
Shrined, not entomb'd, ye rest in sacred earth,
Hallow'd by deeds of more than mortal worth.
What though to mark where sleeps heroic dust,
No sculptured trophy rise, or breathing bust,
Yours, on the scene where valour's race was run,
A prouder sepulchre–the field ye won!
There every mead, each cabin's lowly name,
Shall live a watchword blended with your fame;
And well may flowers suffice those graves to crown
That ask no urn to blazon their renown!
There shall the bard in future ages tread,
And bless each wreath that blossoms o'er the dead;
Revere each tree whose sheltering branches wave
O'er the low mounds, the altars of the brave;
Pause o'er each warrior's grass-grown bed, and hear
In every breeze some name to glory dear;
And as the shades of twilight close around,
With martial pageants people all the ground.
Thither unborn descendants of the slain
Shall throng as pilgrims to the holy fane,
While as they trace each spot, whose records tell
Where fought their fathers, and prevail'd, and fell,
Warm in their souls shall loftiest feelings glow,
Claiming proud kindred with the dust below!
And many an age shall see the brave repair,
To learn the Hero's bright devotion there.

And well, Ausonia! may that field of fame,
From thee one song of echoing triumph claim.
Land of the lyre! 'twas there the avenging sword
Won the bright treasures to thy fanes restored;
Those precious trophies o'er thy realms that throw
A veil of radiance, hiding half thy woe,
And bid the stranger for awhile forget
How deep thy fall, and deem thee glorious yet.

Yes, fair creations! to perfection wrought,
Embodied visions of ascending thought!
Forms of sublimity! by Genius traced
In tints that vindicate adoring taste;
Whose bright originals, to earth unknown,
Live in the spheres encircling glory's throne;
Models of art, to deathless fame consign'd,
Stamp'd with the high-born majesty of mind;
Yes, matchless works! your presence shall restore
One beam of splendour to your native shore,
And her sad scenes of lost renown illume,
As the bright sunset gilds some hero's tomb.

Oh! ne'er, in other climes, though many an eye
Dwelt on your charms, in beaming ecstasy;
Ne'er was it yours to bid the soul expand
With thoughts so mighty, dreams so boldly grand,
As in that realm, where each faint breeze's moan
Seems a low dirge for glorious ages gone;
Where 'midst the ruin'd shrines of many a vale,
E'en Desolation tells a haughty tale,
And scarce a fountain flows, a rock ascends,
But its proud name with song eternal blends!

Yes! in those scenes where every ancient stream
Bids memory kindle o'er some lofty theme;
Where every marble deeds of fame records,
Each ruin tells of Earth's departed lords;
And the deep tones of inspiration swell
From each wild olive-wood, and Alpine dell;
Where heroes slumber on their battle plains,
Midst prostrate altars and deserted fanes,
And Fancy communes, in each lonely spot,
With shades of those who ne'er shall be forgot;
There was your home, and there your power imprest,
With tenfold awe, the pilgrim's glowing breast;
And, as the wind's deep thrills and mystic sighs
Wake the wild harp to loftiest harmonies,
Thus at your influence, starting from repose,
Thought, Feeling, Fancy, into grandeur rose.

Fair Florence! queen of Arno's lovely vale!
Justice and Truth indignant heard thy tale,
And sternly smiled, in retribution's hour,
To wrest thy treasures from the Spoiler's power.
Too long the spirits of thy noble dead
Mourn'd o'er the domes they rear'd in ages fled.
Those classic scenes their pride so richly graced,
Temples of genius, palaces of taste,
Too long, with sad and desolated mien,
Reveal'd where Conquest's lawless track had been;
Reft of each form with brighter light imbued,
Lonely they frown'd, a desert solitude,
Florence ! the Oppressor's noon of pride is o'er,
Rise in. thy pomp again, and weep no more!

As one, who, starting at the dawn of day
From dark illusions, phantoms of dismay,
With transport heighten'd by those ills of night,
Hails the rich glories of expanding light;
E'en thus, awakening from thy dream of woe,
While heaven's own hues in radiance round thee glow,
With warmer ecstasy 'tis thine to trace
Each tint of beauty, and each line of grace
More bright, more prized, more precious, since deplored,
As loved, lost relics, ne'er to be restored,
Thy grief as hopeless as the tear-drop shed
By fond affection bending o'er the dead.

Athens of Italy! once more are thine
Those matchless gems of Art's exhaustless mine.
For thee bright Genius darts his living beam,
Warm o'er thy shrines the tints of Glory stream,
And forms august as natives of the sky,
Rise round each fane in faultless majesty,
So chastely perfect, so serenely grand,
They seem creations of no mortal hand.

Ye, at whose voice fair Art, with eagle glance,
Burst in full splendour from her deathlike trance;
Whose rallying call bade slumbering nations wake,
And daring Intellect his bondage break;
Beneath whose eye the lords of song arose,
And snatch'd the Tuscan Iyre from long repose,
And bade its pealiing energies resound,
With power electric, through the realms around;
Oh! high in thought, magnificent in soul!
Born to inspire, enlighten, and control;
Cosmo, Lorenzo! view your reign once more,
The shrine where nations mmgle to adore!
Again the Enthusiast there, with ardent gaze,
Shall hail the mighty of departed days:
Those sovereign spirits, whose commanding mind
Seems in the marble's breathing mould enshrined;
Still with ascendant power the wor]d to awe,
Still the deep homage of the heart to draw
To breathe some spell of holiness around,
Bid all the scene be consecrated ground,
And from the stone, by Inspiration wrought,
Dart the pure lightnings of exalted thought.

There thou, fair offspring of immortal Mind!
Love's radiant goddess, idol of mankind!
Once the bright object of Devotion's vow,
Shalt claim from taste a kindred worship now.
Oh! who can te]l what beams of heavenly light
Flash'd o'er the sculptor's intellectual sight,
How many a glimpse, reveal'd to him alone,
Made brighter beings, nobler worlds, his own;
Ere, like some vision sent the earth to bless,
Burst into life thy pomp of loveliness!

Young Genius there, while dwells his kindling eye
On forms, instinct with bright divinity,
While new-born powers, dilating in his heart,
Embrace the full magnificence of Art;
From scenes, by Raphael's gifted hand array'd,
From dreams of heaven, by Angelo portray'd;
From each fair work of Grecian skill sublime,
Seal'd with perfection, 'sanctified by time';
Shall catch a kindred glow, and proudly feel
His spirit burn with emulative zeal,
Buoyant with loftier hopes, his soul shall rise,
Imbued at once with nobler energies;
O'er life's dim scenes on rapid pinions soar,
And worlds of visionary grace explore,
Till his bold hand give glory's daydream birth,
And with new wonders charm admiring earth.

Venice, exult ! and o'er thy moonlight seas,
Swell with gay strains each Adriatic breeze!
What though long fled those years of martial fame,
That shed romantic lustre o'er thy name;
Though to the winds thy streamers idly play,
And the wild waves another Queen obey;
Though quench'd the spirit of thine ancient race,
And power and freedom scarce have left a trace;
Yet still shall Art her splendours round thee cast,
And gild the wreck of years for ever past.
Again thy fanes may boast a Titian's dyes,
Whose clear soft brilliance emulates thy skies,
And scenes that glow in colouring's richest bloom,
With life's warm flush Palladian halls illume.
From thy rich dome again the unrivall'd steed
Starts to existence, rushes into speed,
Still for Lysippus claims the wreath of fame,
Panting with ardour, vivified with flame.

Proud Racers of the Sun! to fancy's thought
Burning with spirit, from his essence caught,
No mortal birth ye seem–but form'd to bear
Heaven's car of triumph through the realms of air;
To range uncurb'd the pathless fields of space,
The winds your rivals in the glorious race;
Traverse empyreal spheres with buoyant feet,
Free as the zephyr, as the shot-star fleet;
And waft through worlds unknown the vital ray,
The flame that wakes creations into day.
Creatures of fire and ether ! wing'd with light,
To track the regions of the Infinite!
From purer elements whose life was drawn,
Sprung from the sunbeam, offspring of the dawn.
What years on years, in silence gliding by,
Have spared those forms of perfect symmetry!
Moulded by Art to dignify, alone,
Her own bright deity's resplendent throne,
Since first her skill their fiery grace bestow'd,
Meet for such lofty fate, such high abode,
How many a race, whose tales of glory seem
An echo's voice–the music of a dream,
Whose records feebly from oblivion save
A few bright traces of the wise and brave;
How many a state, whose pillar'd strength sublime,
Defied the storms of war, the waves of time,
Towering o'er earth majestic and alone,
Fortress of power–has flourish'd and is gone!
And they, from clime to clime by conquest borne,
Each fleeting triumph destined to adorn,
They, that of powers and kingdoms lost and won,
Have seen the noontide and the setting sun,
Consummate still in every grace remain,
As o'er their heads had ages roll'd in vain!
Ages, victorious in their ceaseless flight,
O'er countless monuments of earthly might!
While she, from fair Byzantium's lost domain,
Who bore those treasures to her ocean-reign,
'Midst the blue deep, who rear'd her island-throne,
And called the infinitude of waves her own;
Venice, the proud, the Regent of the sea,
Welcomes in chains the trophies of the Free!:

And thou, whose Eagle's towering plume umfurl'd,
Once cast its shadow o'er a vassal world,
Eternal city! round whose Curule throne,
The lords of nations knelt in ages flown;
Thou, whose Augustan years have left to time
Immortal records of their glorious prime;
When deathless bards, thine olive-shades among,
Swell'd the high raptures of heroic song;
Fair, fallen Empress! raise thy languid head
From the cold altars of the illustrious dead,
And once again, with fond delight survey
The proud memorials of thy noblest day.

Lo! where thy sons, O Rome! a godlike train,
In imaged majesty return again!
Bards, chieftains, monarchs, tower with mien august
O'er scenes that shrine their venerable dust.
Those forms, those features, luminous with soul,
Still o'er thy children seem to claim control;
With awful grace arrest the pilgrim's glance,
Bind his rapt soul in elevating trance,
And bid the past, to fancy's ardent eyes,
From time's dim sepulchre in glory rise.

Souls of the lofty! whose undying names
Rouse the young bosom still to noblest aims;
Oh! with your images could fate restore,
Your own high spirit to your sons once more;
Patriots and Heroes! could those flames return,
That bade your hearts with freedom's ardours burn
Then from the sacred ashes of the first,
Might a new Rome in phoenix grandeur burst!
With one bright glance dispel the horizon's gloom,
With one loud call wake empire from the tomb;
Bind round her brows her own triumphal crown,
Lift her dread aegis with majestic frown,
Unchain her eagle's wing, and guide his flight,
To bathe his plumage in the fount of light.

Vain dream! degraded Rome! thy noon is o'er,
Once lost, thy spirit shall revive no more.
It sleeps with those, the sons of other days,
Who fix'd on thee the world's adoring gaze;
Those, blest to live, while yet thy star was high,
More blest, ere darkness quench'd its beam, to die!

Yet, though thy faithless tutelary powers
Have fled thy shrines, left desolate thy towers,
Still, still to thee shall nations bend their way,
Revered in ruin, sovereign in decay!
Oh! what can realms, in fame's full zenith, boast,
To match the relics of thy splendour lost!
By Tiber's waves, on each illustrious hill,
Genius and Taste shall love to wander still,
For there has Art survived an empire's doom,
And rear'd her throne o'er Latium's trophied tomb;
She from the dust recalls the brave and free,
Peopling each scene with beings worthy thee!

Oh! ne'er again may War, with lightning-stroke,
Rend its last honours from the shatter'd oak!
Long be those works, revered by ages, thine,
To lend one triumph to thy dim decline.

Bright with stern beauty, breathing wrathful fire,
In all the grandeur of celestial ire,
Once more thine own, the immortal Archer's form
Sheds radiance round, with more than Being warm!
Oh! who could view, nor deem that perfect frame,
A living temple of ethereal flame?

Lord of the daystar! how may words portray
Of thy chaste glory one reflected ray?
Whate'er the soul could dream, the hand could trace,
Of regal dignity, and heavenly grace;
Each purer effluence of the fair and bright,
Whose fitful gleams have broke on mortal sight;
Each bold idea, borrow'd from the sky,
To vest the embodied form of Deity;
All, all in thee ennobled and refined,
Breathe and enchant, transcendently combined!
Son of Elysium! years and ages gone
Have bow'd, in speechless homage, at thy throne,
And days unborn, and nations yet to be,
Shall gaze, absorb'd in ecstasy, on thee!

And thou, triumphant wreck, e'en yet sublime,
Disputed trophy, claimed by Art and Time;
Hail to that scene again, where Genius caught
From thee its fervours of diviner thought!
Where He, the inspired One, whose gigantic mind
Lived in some sphere, to him alone assign'd;
Who from the past, the future, and the unseen,
Could call up forms of more than earthly mien:
Unrivall'd Angelo on thee would gaze,
Till his full soul imbibed perfection's blaze!
And who but he, that Prince of Art, might dare
Thy sovereign greatness view without despair?
Emblem of Rome! from power's meridian hurl'd,
Yet claiming still the homage of the world.

What hadst thou been, ere barbarous hands defaced
The work of wonder, idolized by taste?
Oh! worthy still of some divine abode,
Mould of a Conqueror! ruin of a God!
Still, like some broken gem, whose quenchless beam
From each bright fragment pours its vital stream,
'Tis thine, by fate unconquer'd, to dispense
From every part some ray of excellence!
E'en yet, inform'd with essence from on high,
Thine is no trace of frail mortality!
Within that frame a purer being glows,
Through viewless veins a brighter current flows;
Fill'd with immortal life each muscle swells,
In every line supernal grandeur dwells.

Consummate work! the noblest and the last
Of Grecian Freedom, ere her reign was past:
Nurse of the mighty, she, while lingering still,
Her mantle flow'd o'er many a classic hill,
Ere yet her voice its parting accents breathed,
A hero's image to the world bequeathed;
Enshrined in thee the imperishable ray
Of high-soul'd Genius, foster'd by her sway.
And bade thee teach, to ages yet unborn,
What lofty dreams were hers–who never shall return!

And mark yon group, transfixed with many a throe,
Seal'd with the image of eternal woe:
With fearful truth, terrific power, exprest,
Thy pangs, Laocoon, agonize the breast,
And the stern combat picture to mankind
Of suffering nature, and enduring mind.
Oh, mighty conflict! though his pains intense
Distend each nerve, and dart through every sense;
Though fix'd on him, his children's suppliant eyes
Implore the aid avenging fate denies;
Though with the giant-snake in fruitless strife,
Heaves every muscle with convulsive life,
And in each limb existence writhes, enroll'd
'Midst the dread circles of the venom'd fold;
Yet the strong spirit lives–and not a cry
Shall own the might of Nature's agony!
That furrow'd brow unconquer'd soul reveals,
That patient eye to angry Heaven appeals,
That struggling bosom concentrates its breath,
Nor yields one moan to torture or to death!

Sublimest triumph of intrepid Art!
With speechless horror to congeal the heart,
To freeze each pulse, and dart through every vein,
Cold thrills of fear, keen sympathies of pain;
Yet teach the spirit how its lofty power
May brave the pangs of fate's severest hour.

Turn from such conflicts, and enraptured gaze
On scenes where Painting all her skill displays:
Landscapes, by colouring dress'd in richer dyes,
More mellow'd sunshine, more unclouded skies,
Or dreams of bliss, to dying martyrs given,
Descending seraphs, robed in beams of heaven.

Oh ! sovereign Masters of the Pencil's might,
Its depths of shadow, and its blaze of light;
Ye, whose bold thought, disdaining every bound,
Explored the worlds above, below, around,
Children of Italy! who stand alone
And unapproach'd, 'midst regions all your own;
What scenes, what beings bless'd your favour'd sight
Severely grand, unutterably bright!
Triumphant spirits! your exulting eye
Could meet the noontide of eternity,
And gaze untired, undaunted, uncontroll'd,
On all that Fancy trembles to behold.

Bright on your view such forms their splendour shed,
As burst on prophet-bards in ages fled:
Forms that to trace, no hand but yours might dare,
Darkly sublime, or exquisitely fair;
These, o'er the walls your magic skill array'd,
Glow in rich sunshine, gleam through melting shade,
Float in light grace, in awful greatness tower,
And breathe and move, the records of your power.
Inspired of Heaven! what heighten'd pomp ye cast
O'er all the deathless trophies of the past!
Round many a marble fane and classic dome,
Asserting still the majesty of Rome;
Round many a work that bids the world believe
What Grecian Art could image and achieve;
Again, creative minds, your visions throw
Life's chasten'd warmth, and Beauty's mellowest glow,
And when the Morn's bright beams and mantling dyes,
Pour the rich lustre of Ausonian skies,
Or evening suns illume, with purple smile,
The Parian altar, and the pillar'd aisle,
Then, as the full, or soften'd radiance falls
On angel-groups that hover o'er the walls,
Well may those Temples, where your hand has shed
Light o'er the tomb, existence round the dead,
Seem like some world, so perfect and so fair,
That naught of earth should find admittance there,
Some sphere, where beings, to mankind unknown
Dwell in the brightness of their pomp alone!

Hence, ye vain fictions! fancy's erring theme!
Gods of illusion! phantoms of a dream!
Frail, powerless idols of departed time,
Fables of song, delusive, though sublime!
To loftier tasks has Roman Art assign'd
Her matchless pencil, and her mighty mind!
From brighter streams her vast ideas flow'd
With purer fire her ardent spirit glow'd.
To her 'twas given in fancy to explore
The land of miracles, the holiest shore;
That realm where first the light of life was sent,
The loved, the punish'd, of the Omnipotent!
O'er Judah's hills her thoughts inspired would stray,
Through Jordan's valleys trace their lonely way;
By Siloa's brook, or Almotana's deep,
Chain'd in dead silence, and unbroken sleep;
Scenes, whose cleft rocks, and blasted deserts tell,
Where pass'd the Eternal, where His anger fell!
Where oft His voice the words of fate reveal'd,
Swell'd in the whirlwind, in the thunder peal'd,
Or heard by prophets in some palmy vale,
Breathed 'still small' whispers on the midnight gale.
There dwelt her spirit–there her hand portray'd,
'Midst the lone wilderness or cedar-shade,
Ethereal forms with awful missions fraught,
Or patriarch-seers absorb'd in sacred thought,
Bards, in high converse with the world of rest,
Saints of the earth, and spirits of the blest.
But chief to Him, the Conqueror of the grave,
Who lived to guide us, and who died to save;
Him, at whose glance the powers of evil fled,
And soul return'd to animate the dead;
Whom the waves own'd–and sunk beneath His eye,
Awed by one accent of Divinity;
To Him she gave her meditative hours,
Hallow'd her thoughts, and sanctified her powers.
O'er her bright scenes sublime repose she threw,
As all around the Godhead's presence knew,
And robed the Holy One's benignant mien
In beaming mercy, majesty serene.

Oh! mark where Raphael's pure and perfect line
Portrays that form ineffably divine!
Where with transcendent skill his hand has shed
Diffusive sunbeams round the Saviour's head;
Each heaven-illumined lineament imbued
With all the fullness of beatitude,
And traced the sainted group, whose mortal sight
Sinks overpower'd by that excess of light!

Gaze on that scene, and own the might of Art,
By truth inspired, to elevate the heart!
To bid the soul exultingly possess,
Of all her powers, a heighten'd consciousness;
And strong in hope, anticipate the day,
The last of life, the first of freedom's ray;
To realize, in some unclouded sphere,
Those pictured glories imaged here!
Dim, cold reflections from her native sky,
Faint effluence of 'the Day-spring from on high!'

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I'll Just Start Walking

So much time spent seeking
Not enough time for faith.
If I don’t stop looking
I’ll never find the way.
I’ll just start walking
And trust that I won’t fall.
His promises aren’t conditional,
Im not saved by my call.
I’ll just start walking
By faith and faith alone,
For earth is merely fleeting,
Heaven is my home.
I don’t know what to do
Or where on earth to go.
I’ll just start walking,
Faith doesn’t have to know.
I won’t just sit here,
Gnawing nails and moaning
Because I don’t have a crystal ball
That tells me just what’s coming.
I’ll just start walking
As best as I know how,
Its no use waiting any longer
Or wallowing in doubt.
I’ll just start walking,
Yes, I’ll just start walking.
Is that not faith, anyway?
I’ll just start walking.

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Water

Now everybody tells me youre the dogs best friend
Im the cats meow since I dont know when
Im an instigator from a dead mans town
So when did the whole world turn upside down
When did you change your mind, when did you lose the juice
Now where did you get your attitude
When did you give it away, what did the old man say
And how many babies did you kick today
Now how many nights can the full moon shine
How many bottles of water can you turn to wine
When the blood has flowed against the tides of time
And the water flows forever
Hey hey hey!
Now Im gonna build a boat, Im gonna make it float
cause Im getting the chase for a faraway place
Gonna set the sail, gonna catch some wind
And the big red skys gonna be my only friend
With a boat for two, just me and you
You can be my teacher, I can teach you too
Gonna try a few things that Ive never done
Maybe talk to the fishies, maybe have some fun
Maybe shake my pale fist at the angry stars
While I dance a jig under the eyes of mars
When we get to an island where no ones ever been
We can get down and dirty in our animal skins
And I stand with my thing hanging out in the wind
Where the waters sweet like honey
Hey hey yeah hey hey yeah!
Ive been feeling a chill, from the east wind blue
Its been creeping up slow, have you felt it too?
Have you noticed the look? have you felt the feel?
Did it make you blush when the piggy squealed
Have you heard what they say, did you read the news
Said the old mans coming home a-singing the blues
Gonna whack your fanny, gonna tan your hide
Make your ears turn red, make you gonna cry
Now how many children gonna lose their minds
How many crying girls will be left behind
When the dead start walking and the full moon shines
When the dead start walking and the full moon shines
When the dead start walking and the full moon shines
When the dead start walking and the full moon shines
When the dead start walking... yeah
Now everybody sing to the heavens above
And everybody dance to the sounds of love
Wont you clack your teeth, wont you smack your hands
Wont you dig your little heads right out of the sand
Wont you jiggle your butt, wont you wave your arms
Wont you look like you just came off of the farm
Wont you stop your fighting for a second or two
Wont you help your neighbors, wont you do the do
Wont you taste the sugar, wont you eat the cake
Wont you get your ugly mug right out of my face
Wont you tell your brothers and your sisters tonight,
That you tasted the water and the water was right
Wont you taste the sugar, wont you dance the dance
Wont you wake up please, come on out of your trance
Everybody make believe that you disappear
For a second or two, gonna feel so queer
And you left behind all your rage and fear
And it made you feel like water

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Overcoming A Night

A sun is blocked by an accident.
My soul shocks and is almost dead.

The sky of moonless night
Consoles me without might.

With the aid of eerie silence,
I hide inner wounds in deepest chest.

I pack my broken heart in tight
In the handkerchief of shameful pride.

Under the gossips of pole star,
I wear a necklace of tears.

Even at the moment of star falling,
No chance to pray and sing.

Twin weak knees start to demonstrate
Not to keep standing up with faith.

Now..., I put the dark behind,
And escape from midnight blind.

For the unfamiliar light of dawn,
Like a melodic bird in tunes
Which flies to balmy blooms,
I'd better create greatest fortunes.

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If The Phone Doesnt Ring Its Me

If the phone doesnt ring its me
1985
The time spent writing about the intensity involved in trying to
Keep love together is short; but the endless research can kill you.
There are oceans of feelings between us
Currents that take us and sweep us away
Thats why we seldom have seen us
In the light of a cold hard day
Lots of new friends with the same old answers
Open your eyes
You might see
If our lives were that simple
Wed live in the past
If the phone doesnt ring
Its me
If the phone doesnt ring
Youll know that its me
Ill be out in the eye of the storm
If the phone doesnt ring
You know that Ill be
Where someone can make me feel warm
Its too bad we cant turn
And live in the past
If the phone doesnt ring
Its me
Ive had good days and bad days
And goin half mad days
I try to let go but youre still on my mind
Ive lost all the old ways
Im searchin for new plays
Puttin it all on the line
Lots of new friends with the same old problems
Open your eyes you might see
If our lives were that simple
Wed live in the past
If the phone doesnt ring
Its me
If the phone doesnt ring
Youll know that its me
Ill be out in the eye of the storm
If the phone doesnt ring
You know that Ill be
Where someone can make me feel warm
Its too bad we cant turn
And live in the past
If the phone doesnt ring
Its me
Its me, its me
Its me, its me
Its me, its me
Its me, its me
If it takes all the future
Well live through the past
If the phone doesnt ring
Its me
- notes:
Background vocals: glenn frey, timothy b. schmit

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Stop singing

Chanting memories
Traping self in the net
Tamebird stop singing.

Come to the forefront
Open mouth no word out
Chanting fails memories left.

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Bottomed Out Or Not

Bottomed out or not...
Don't let the feeling of this stop you.
Keep your hopes held up high.
Don't give into ruts.

It's not easy pinching pennies,
To be squeezed.
And feeling sour like a lemon juiced,
On your knees.

Believe there's many reasons,
To remove yourself from ropes.
Be free of them and loosen.
Just don't give up hope.

It's not easy pinching pennies.
But do pinch them in a need.
Even with your pockets empty...
You don't have to grieve.

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The Mother In Son’s Base.

Hail Mother Kali,
Which of your image,
Your son may guess,
To feel your incarnation.
Which of your form,
In meditation norm,
Conquer the carnal.

Mine is a vacant lot,
A waif with no mother’s care, -
The bounty graces, -
The cheek –lapping faces,
And tender affections layers,

Lacking, lacking, wanting I,
Too poor, to see thy, worth,
Thus your Divine,
No reacts on mine.

Hey my mother,
Show me further,
That in all woman you are,
Show me your that image, ,
My feeling may have coverage,
The mother in your son’s base.

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Peter Anderson And Co.

He had offices in Sydney, not so many years ago,
And his shingle bore the legend `Peter Anderson and Co.',
But his real name was Careless, as the fellows understood --
And his relatives decided that he wasn't any good.
'Twas their gentle tongues that blasted any `character' he had --
He was fond of beer and leisure -- and the Co. was just as bad.
It was limited in number to a unit, was the Co. --
'Twas a bosom chum of Peter and his Christian name was Joe.

'Tis a class of men belonging to these soul-forsaken years:
Third-rate canvassers, collectors, journalists and auctioneers.
They are never very shabby, they are never very spruce --
Going cheerfully and carelessly and smoothly to the deuce.
Some are wanderers by profession, `turning up' and gone as soon,
Travelling second-class, or steerage (when it's cheap they go saloon);
Free from `ists' and `isms', troubled little by belief or doubt --
Lazy, purposeless, and useless -- knocking round and hanging out.
They will take what they can get, and they will give what they can give,
God alone knows how they manage -- God alone knows how they live!
They are nearly always hard-up, but are cheerful all the while --
Men whose energy and trousers wear out sooner than their smile!
They, no doubt, like us, are haunted by the boresome `if' or `might',
But their ghosts are ghosts of daylight -- they are men who live at night!

Peter met you with the comic smile of one who knows you well,
And is mighty glad to see you, and has got a joke to tell;
He could laugh when all was gloomy, he could grin when all was blue,
Sing a comic song and act it, and appreciate it, too.
Only cynical in cases where his own self was the jest,
And the humour of his good yarns made atonement for the rest.
Seldom serious -- doing business just as 'twere a friendly game --
Cards or billiards -- nothing graver. And the Co. was much the same.

They tried everything and nothing 'twixt the shovel and the press,
And were more or less successful in their ventures -- mostly less.
Once they ran a country paper till the plant was seized for debt,
And the local sinners chuckle over dingy copies yet.

They'd been through it all and knew it in the land of Bills and Jims --
Using Peter's own expression, they had been in `various swims'.
Now and then they'd take an office, as they called it, -- make a dash
Into business life as `agents' -- something not requiring cash.
(You can always furnish cheaply, when your cash or credit fails,
With a packing-case, a hammer, and a pound of two-inch nails --
And, maybe, a drop of varnish and sienna, too, for tints,
And a scrap or two of oilcloth, and a yard or two of chintz).
They would pull themselves together, pay a week's rent in advance,
But it never lasted longer than a month by any chance.

The office was their haven, for they lived there when hard-up --
A `daily' for a table cloth -- a jam tin for a cup;
And if the landlord's bailiff happened round in times like these
And seized the office-fittings -- well, there wasn't much to seize --
They would leave him in possession. But at other times they shot
The moon, and took an office where the landlord knew them not.
And when morning brought the bailiff there'd be nothing to be seen
Save a piece of bevelled cedar where the tenant's plate had been;
There would be no sign of Peter -- there would be no sign of Joe
Till another portal boasted `Peter Anderson and Co.'

And when times were locomotive, billiard-rooms and private bars --
Spicy parties at the cafe -- long cab-drives beneath the stars;
Private picnics down the Harbour -- shady campings-out, you know --
No one would have dreamed 'twas Peter --
no one would have thought 'twas Joe!
Free-and-easies in their `diggings', when the funds began to fail,
Bosom chums, cigars, tobacco, and a case of English ale --
Gloriously drunk and happy, till they heard the roosters crow --
And the landlady and neighbours made complaints about the Co.
But that life! it might be likened to a reckless drinking-song,
For it can't go on for ever, and it never lasted long.

. . . . .

Debt-collecting ruined Peter -- people talked him round too oft,
For his heart was soft as butter (and the Co.'s was just as soft);
He would cheer the haggard missus, and he'd tell her not to fret,
And he'd ask the worried debtor round with him to have a wet;
He would ask him round the corner, and it seemed to him and her,
After each of Peter's visits, things were brighter than they were.
But, of course, it wasn't business -- only Peter's careless way;
And perhaps it pays in heaven, but on earth it doesn't pay.
They got harder up than ever, and, to make it worse, the Co.
Went more often round the corner than was good for him to go.

`I might live,' he said to Peter, `but I haven't got the nerve --
I am going, Peter, going -- going, going -- no reserve.
Eat and drink and love they tell us, for to-morrow we may die,
Buy experience -- and we bought it -- we're experienced, you and I.'
Then, with a weary movement of his hand across his brow:
`The death of such philosophy's the death I'm dying now.
Pull yourself together, Peter; 'tis the dying wish of Joe
That the business world shall honour Peter Anderson and Co.

`When you feel your life is sinking in a dull and useless course,
And begin to find in drinking keener pleasure and remorse --
When you feel the love of leisure on your careless heart take holt,
Break away from friends and pleasure, though it give your heart a jolt.
Shun the poison breath of cities -- billiard-rooms and private bars,
Go where you can breathe God's air and see the grandeur of the stars!
Find again and follow up the old ambitions that you had --
See if you can raise a drink, old man, I'm feelin' mighty bad --
Hot and sweetened, nip o' butter -- squeeze o' lemon, Pete,' he sighed.
And, while Peter went to fetch it, Joseph went to sleep -- and died
With a smile -- anticipation, maybe, of the peace to come,
Or a joke to try on Peter -- or, perhaps, it was the rum.

. . . . .

Peter staggered, gripped the table, swerved as some old drunkard swerves --
At a gulp he drank the toddy, just to brace his shattered nerves.
It was awful, if you like. But then he hadn't time to think --
All is nothing! Nothing matters! Fill your glasses -- dead man's drink.

. . . . .

Yet, to show his heart was not of human decency bereft,
Peter paid the undertaker. He got drunk on what was left;
Then he shed some tears, half-maudlin, on the grave where lay the Co.,
And he drifted to a township where the city failures go.
Where, though haunted by the man he was, the wreck he yet might be,
Or the man he might have been, or by each spectre of the three,
And the dying words of Joseph, ringing through his own despair,
Peter `pulled himself together' and he started business there.

But his life was very lonely, and his heart was very sad,
And no help to reformation was the company he had --
Men who might have been, who had been, but who were not in the swim --
'Twas a town of wrecks and failures -- they appreciated him.
They would ask him who the Co. was -- that queer company he kept --
And he'd always answer vaguely -- he would say his partner slept;
That he had a `sleeping partner' -- jesting while his spirit broke --
And they grinned above their glasses, for they took it as a joke.
He would shout while he had money, he would joke while he had breath --
No one seemed to care or notice how he drank himself to death;
Till at last there came a morning when his smile was seen no more --
He was gone from out the office, and his shingle from the door,
And a boundary-rider jogging out across the neighb'ring run
Was attracted by a something that was blazing in the sun;
And he found that it was Peter, lying peacefully at rest,
With a bottle close beside him and the shingle on his breast.
Well, they analysed the liquor, and it would appear that he
Qualified his drink with something good for setting spirits free.
Though 'twas plainly self-destruction -- `'twas his own affair,' they said;
And the jury viewed him sadly, and they found -- that he was dead.

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Those Killed...

there is always something to say
to make things live, to give life to words,
it is like a trip to an unknown destination
a kidnap for ransom
we keep on talking to assure ourselves that
we are still alive
some even whistle and then they were shot
they were mistaken for a code
asking for help.

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Hindsight and Multidimensions

I stand here alone,
looking back down the road I came here on
Its pictures like sunlight and stars
reflected off the water of a lake
or the e-coli filled gutter water
It is a gift to see everything gone wrong
and talk about these things
to every other broken heart in every other world
it is an infinity of tragic stories
for each one a single tear shed
for the loss of everything beloved

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Dont Cry No Tears

Dont cry no tears around me
Dont cry no tears around me
cause when all the waters gone
The feeling lingers on
Old true love aint too hard to see
Dont cry no tears around me.
Well I wonder whos with her tonight?
And I wonder whos holding her tight?
But theres nothing I can say
To make him go away
Old true love aint too hard to see
Dont cry no tears around me.
Theres nothing I can say
To make him go away
Old true love aint too hard to see
Dont cry no tears around me
Dont cry no tears around me.

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For love

For love
~
What I wouldn't do for love
the one closest to my heart
filler of every dream
and hope for the future
centre of my every thought
my world as I choose to see it
beautiful, always to my eye
a reason behind my smile
what I wouldn't do for love
I'll remain steadfast
unmovable in my resolve
to be there only waiting
to listen and take care
to love without question
feels as natural as living
and so my heart has spoken
laid bare my naked soul
that I would give my all
what I wouldn't do for love
remains unknown

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Great Expectations

Im so nervous as we face each other,
can you feel me trembling as our fingers touch?
My heart is beating so loud I can hear it,
I guess you know I love you so much.

When we eventually spend the night together,
we’ll kiss, caress, and hold each other tight.
We’ll whisper the sweetest words of love
that’ll tease, tempt, and incite.

Flames of passion will be rising high,
desire will burn from deep within.
Our resistance will drive us to the limit,
but we’ll fight it and not give in.

This of course will only be the beginning,
the next time the ground will shake.
We’ll push our hungry desires for each other
until our body's can no longer wait.

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When You Walk In The Room

(jackie de shannon)
I can see a new expression on my face
I can feel a strange sensation taking place
I can hear the guitars playing lovely tunes
Everytime that you walk in the room
I close my eyes for a second and pretend
Its me you want
Meanwhile I try to act so nonchalant
I see a summer night with a magic moon
Everytime that you walk in the room
Maybe its a dream come true
Standing right along side of you
Wish I could show you how much I care
But I only have the nerve to stare
I can feel that something pounding in my brain
Just anytime that someone speaks your name
Trumpets sound and I hear thunder boom
Everytime that you, everytime that you
Everytime that you, walk in the room

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Long After Tonight Is Over

(burt bacharach / hal david)
Tonight will be for the first time
I have learned what my lips are for
And darling, now that Ive kissed you
Im craving to kiss you more
Let me tell you
Long after tonight is all over
Long after tonight is all gone
Ill be yours
For ever and a day and
Yours, come anything that may
Youll always be just everything to me, yeah
Here in my arms
When I hold you
I can feel that the world is mine
Dont go away
Dont you leave me
Or Ill cry til the end of time
Let me tell you
Long after tonight is all over
Long after its all gone
Ill be yours
Come anything that may and
Yours, for ever and a day
Youll always be just everything to me, yeah, mmm, mmm
Let me tell you
Long after tonight is all over
Long after its all gone
Ill be yours
For ever and a day and
Yours, come anything that may
Youll always be just everything to me, yeah,
Long after tonight is all over
Long after tonight is all over
After its over and done
After its over and done, hey, boy, yeah
After its gone, hey, yeah
After its gone
Long after

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Magnificat

THIS is Christ's birthday: long ago
He lay upon His Mother's knee,
Who kissed and blessed Him soft and low--
God's gift to her, as you to me.


My baby dear, my little one,
The love that rocks this cradling breast
Is such as Mary gave her Son:
She was more honoured, not more blest.


He smiled as you smile: not more sweet
Than your eyes were those eyes of His,
And just such little hands and feet
As yours Our Lady used to kiss.


The world's desire that Mother bore:
She held a King upon her knee:
O King of all my world, and more
Than all the world's desire to me!


I thank God on the Christmas morn,
For He has given me all things good:
This body which a child has borne,
This breast, made holy for his food.


High in high heaven Our Lady's throne
Beside her Son's stands up apart:
I sit on heaven's steps alone
And hold my king against my heart.


Across dark depths she hears your cry;
She sees your smile, through worlds of blue
Who was a mother, even as I,
And loved her Child, as I love you.


And to her heart my babe is dear,
Because she bore the Babe Divine,
And all my soul to hers draws near,
And loves Him for the sake of mine!

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Night visions

I do not fear the dark, my eyes
adjust so that I can see.
The beauties which would otherwise
be hidden by the night from me.

To walk abroad alone by night
seems only natural to me
Quite different from brighter light
the sun provides consistently.

It is a different world by night
the garish colours of the day.
Have been replaced by black and white
as beautiful in their own way.

As anything you see by day
The muted colours softening
harsh outlines in a subtle way
Moving shadows intertwining.

Produce in me serenity
A mood the quietness inspires
I stroll enwrapped in reverie
as often as my heart desires

I can look back nostalgically
recalling how thing used to be
or look ahead and try to see
what the future holds for me.

I see the darkness as a friend
For me it holds no mystery
I know for sure I can depend
upon the quiet night to be.

A time when I can meditate
and view my world quite differently.
Which will let me appreciate
all of the beauty which I see.

Although some people fear the night
and find the silence frightening.
To walk by night is my delight
I find the quietness soothing.

11-Oct-08

http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

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The Love That Youve Been Looking For

Lonely, thats not how were meant to be
But looking in your eyes I see
A heart that was abandoned
By a world that used to show you love
You feel like youre the only one
Whose day begins without the sun
Youre left to turn and face it all alone
Well, I know sometimes it seems as if
Fate has done you wrong
But if you look inside your heart
Youll find the strength to carry on
Youve got to leave it all behind you
Break through those lonely chains that bind you
cause loves not far away, its gonna find your heart someday
And when you feel its warmth surround you
Youll realize that love has found you
So turn away your fears
cause the love that youve been looking for is here
Suddenly, your broken heart begins to see
A love that lasts eternally
Just look ahead and never ever let a single tear drop from your eye
It breaks my heart to see you cry
The pain that haunts you every night
Because of all the emptiness inside
Well, I know sometimes it seems as if your heart is caving in
But if we look inside the soul well find the love we have within
I know sometimes when things go wrong
You search for strength carry on
But all we need to take control
Is the love within my soul
cause you know that love will find a way
To reach your heart again someday
You must believe its true
Now all you have to do
Written by nick lachey

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