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Voluntary Oblivion

Roaming free in voluntary oblivion
away from a life of imposed opinion.
There is not much to say,
but more to do.

Let us eradicate races
and look deeper into people's faces.
The eyes speak
and the mouth dries up the tongue sometimes.

Blindness creates worlds of words in rhymes
and once upon a time we had good times.
She sees images and experiences auditory hallucinations
she rummages to find the slightest inspiration.

There was once a loss
a terrible and tragic loss.
A traumatizing, disturbing, and shocking loss.
There was once a loss
a loss for words.

There was once a loss of all human emotion
there was once a destitution
of all responsive inclination.
There was once a loss
of the father of them all, imagination.

There was once apathy
just as there once was telepathy.
There was once a time where eyes showed no desire
and there was only the faces all of them different
all of them tasteless ablaze and perspired.

Pleasure is jaded and coiled up and driving about
the hallowed roads into insinuated profanity.
Heaven's illusion has taken us all down
to the mistress of mystery and insanity.

There could be oneness in the delusion.
There could be friendship in the intrusion.
There could be gaps
but all in all, it is really just a load of crap.
A trap disguised as an X on a treasure map.

How lovely would it be to sleep on my lap
as the day drifts and the burden lifts?
Shoulders can only hold so much,
boulders can only be lifted by touch.

Where is my muse and what happened to the way I used to write?
Where is my muse and what happened to enjoying those sleepless nights?
I'm not amused, and I thought of a fight - but you forgot that there was a loss.

There was once a terrible and tragic loss.
There was once apathy,
and I receive no more of your messages through telepathy.
I am not amused
and you are not my muse.

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Someone's Shoes

Some days I wanna quit
Feel like I'm walking someone else's path
Wearing someone's shoes that aren't meant for me
Or you
Some days seem to drag on
Constantly moving then suddenly gone
But still it reaches and reaches
Tryin to find what it beseeches
Foot prints have already been made here
Feeling like the time is near
Gazing in at the past throught clouded vision
Gazing at anything really with distorted vision
Bias decisions
Tryin to carve through life will precision
We don't really have control over what we've
Been born into
Just struggling through life and what we
Run into
I wonder what'll happen when I'm gone
Will everybody just move on
Or will I be kept alive through other people's eyes
I wanna be remembered when I go
For all the good things that I show
I don't wanna be a number in a book
I wanna be a person who shook
Lives of those in and around her
Someone who's loss was profound, I
Wonder what the real problem of life is
Or when young finally be come the wisest
What really happens on the day
When everything Suddenly became
Real and I could feel
And breath a move
And walk and grove
I wonder why we're born here
When there are a whole bunch of worlds out there
I wonder what goes through a newborn's eyes
If they know how important there actions lie
I wonder what goes through a soldiers mind
When he sees a bullet right before his eyes
I'f he knows he gonna die
But it's a sacrifice he chose right?
This life is twisted and sad
With all those people lying and dying
Whining and crying
Sighing and givin
From the moment they start livin
Working towards a death that's comin
Trying to escape an inevitable run in
There are those who run towards death
Throwing their lives away for something like meth
Giving up decency for theft
We strive for perfection
Try to give affection
Let the people we love know we love them
Before its to late to let them
Know how we feel
Life seems so surreal
Everything's jumbled up in a cloud of emotion
With all the commotion
I wonder how someone else feels about life
And strife
And all the things that go wrong
Or the things that make you wanna sing a song
It's all about perception
Each one of us makes a connection
That is our own
Purely ours right down to the bone
And what's the real message in what I'm writing?
These things we call thoughts that I'm
Abiding by and making mine
Just something I'm tryin to figure out
About this messed up thing we call livin

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The Sun Doesn't Shine Forever

At the end of the rainbow, found each other there
Strange we never thought the colors would fade
Be easy to walk, but it's much harder to stay
Why, oh why are we reckless today
You and I, got to hold on together, cause in this life
Maybe the sun doesn't shine forever
Could say I'm sorry, but theres no one to blame
Anger seems to dissolve into tears
Been so many good times, not only despair
Somehow we'll find the love we can share
You and I, got to hold on together
Cause in this life, maybe the sun doesn't shine forever
You and I, make this life for each other
Cause I believe we've got enough for when the sun doesn't shine
You and I, got to hold on together
Cause in this life, maybe the sun doesn't shine forever

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Good news

When I was a child
I went with thousands of people,
to listen to a great preacher
and today his words still stand:

Good news
I have good news.
The good news is,
that God loves you.”

“He has a plan for your life
and theres a purpose for living.
Don’t give up.
Don’t let the headlines
threaten you.”

“God is still sovereign.
He’s still on the throne
and those that follows and serves Him
has a future,
brighter than tomorrow.”

*

Still I keep my eyes on Him
and although my world staggers around me
and at times I do not know
where to find light
in the darkness,
I know that He is still near.

The years pass so quickly
that life is almost
like a dream
and sometimes I do not know
why things happen,
but still I trust
in the almighty God
and that His light will come in time
and I wait on His plan
to unfold for me.

[Reference: Billy Graham.]

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For The Good Times

(Kris Kristofferson)
Don't look so sad;
I know it's over;
But life goes on and this old world will keep on turning.
Let's just be glad we had some time to spend together
There's no need to watch the bridges that we're bur.....ning.
Lay your head upon my pillow,
Hold your warm and tender body close to mine.
Hear the whisper of the raindrops
blowing soft against the window
And make believe you love me one more time
For the good times.
I'll get along; you'll find another;
And I'll be here if you should find you ever need me.
Don't say a word about tomorrow or forever.
There'll be time enough for sadness when you leave me.
Lay your head upon my pillow,
Hold your warm and tender body close to mine.
Hear the whisper of the raindrops
blowing soft against the window
And make believe you love me one more time
For the good times.
Andr Velloso - Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
alv@domain.com.br

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What is Life

Life is everywhere that you look,

Some people might say that life sucks,

While other people might say life is beautiful,

And is full of surprises, that are waiting to be discovered,

Life is whatever you think it may be,

Life is in you now and it shall forever always stay,

Life is the wind howling at you sideways,

Life is the winter, summer, spring, and fall,

Life is sad and life is lonely,

Life can be evil and Life is blunt,

Life is a true friend that never lies to you,

Life is all about you and how you treat it,

Life is what you make of it,

If you criticize life, then your criticizing yourself,

Its all up to you on whether you like it, or hate it,

I am life, you are life, we are life,

Life loves me and I love life back,

Life is you, so be careful on how you describe it,

Don’t base life off of what others say,

But base life off, of what you think it is,

Your words are stronger then others opinions,

So take those words and put them to use,

I am life, you are life, we are life!

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Shiver in spine

It is dreaded imagination
When comes to be discussed in relation
The thought itself sends shiver in spine
Most frightening aspect that makes human being not to feel fine

How can a person think of leaving world?
When he has life and ideas to b sold
To stand of own and prove the capacity
That he can serve and do the better with quality

Everything is taken for granted
Whatever possible is wanted?
Free and smooth passage is dreamed
Yes main aspect is surely missed

What if life is suddenly taken off?
Why it is made so hard and tough?
Despite known fact, it goes on unending
Many times shock waves and other things frequently sending

Had the danger of death being not there?
Can any one imagine quest of human being ending anywhere?
He could do anything possible in his power?
To stay maximum on earth and challenge everyone to dare

Even with so much danger to life and many question marks?
It is made really unbearable with lot many sparks
Rivalry, hatred, competition and accumulation of wealth
All at the cost of spoiling relation and good health

Only one weapon in the armory of God is feared
Rest all tricks are employed and victory is cheered
Enjoy as much as possible before curtain is drawn
Life may end any time or suddenly withdrawn

Life is after all life and must be spent at full length
It can be made worthwhile and enjoyed with strength
Even though it has unpredictable nature and uncertain span
We can certainly enjoy it with little of thought and plan

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Are You Gonna Be There

If I was down
Would your arms lift me up to higher ground
With just the strength of your love
When I was lost
Would I find something in your eyes to lead me home

And if it all went wrong
Would you be there to hold
It's easy to be there through the good times
But when the times get hard
Would you stay or walk away

Chorus:
Are you gonna be there when the rain comes
Are you gonna be there with the water
Can you say you'll be there with the river
Are you gonna be there
Will you stand by my side through the bad times
Through whatever we'll be will you still be mine
Will you stay in my life for a lifetime
Are you gonna be there

When I need someone to hold
Someone there for me
Are you gonna be there

In all my world
If it should all fall down
Will you be there
Be there to turn it around
Will you still care
Can I depend on you to see me through this life
If it all goes wrong
Will you still make it right

It's easy to be there through the good times
But when the times get hard
Will you still be on my side

Chorus

When I need someone beside me
Someone there for me
Are you gonna be
There with the arms to hold me
There with the love I need
Then will you be there
Will you be there
Heart and soul
I need to know

Are you gonna be there
Are you gonna still care
(Are you gonna still care)
Are you gonna be there

Will you stand by my side
(Stand by my side)
Are you gonna be mine
Are you gonna be there
(Are you gonna be there)

Chorus (2x)

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The Lion of the Dawn

The sun sliced through the ample sighs
Of the foggy dawn and grazed
The inert life in each
Quiescent leaves
Of the forest's canopy.
The world was a burning orb
In the misty horizon
Of its arid skin.
Every fraction started
Rousing into life,
From the blossoming buds
Of the wild bougainvilleas,
The elucidation of
The forest floor clad in moss,
The subtle tremble
In the boughs
Of the yawning tress,
The lifting waves
Of the hampered grass,
The fading of
The cricket's revelry
Paving way
For the cacophonous harmony
Of chirping birds;
And there was something sublime
Inside the chromospheres
Of the fulmination of life.
Something supple as
The battering of eyelashes
That is all the same surreal
That it can set forth
Colossal waves to another
Acknowledging eye.

Unfortunately,
Only a lionhearted soul
Could grapple this in sentience
Without suffocating the feral splendor.

In the belly of the shuddering abstraction
Lies a pristine vista
Of an olive pond.
It was making billowing ripples
Instigated by a pink unwavering tongue.
Massive paws rested on the fringes
Of the sodden aqueous mirror,
Serpentine tail wags in svelte grace,
And tuft suspicious ears
Twitch invariably as
An immensely sized and aloof head
Of gilded ropy hair
Bows into the mirror.
The steely gold orbits
That drown in the dithering cesspool
Mused on the pockmarks and scars
That squandered the dazzles
Of the tawny skin
He used to muse upon.
But then again,
With every roll of the undulating water,
He had seen the forest bloom
In a looming dance of ethereal flames
In the unfathomable surface
Of the impenetrable membranes
Of the pond.

The forest emerged vigorously
In its sedentary breathing,
Cloying the qualms of a
Ferocious cat in the distorted
Reflection of the pond
Of delusions.
The lion's heart was made of glass,
Frangible and brittle;
His bones were hollow
And they constantly quaver.
The lion's heart roared and prowled
Ripping the evanescence
Of both anguish and bliss.
The lion was weak
And easy to topple
But he burned of golden cinders
That spoke of a fervent desire
To stand in the front line of surrealistic
Crusades of heart
Without any remedy.

The forest has ears
And he can hear the vying
In every pounding of the forlorn chamber
Of the lion's heart.
The forest has eyes
And he can see the lion rising
Every time the sun would shatter
The mistral darkness of the eve
With zealous desire for life
In the verisimilitude of
The breaking dawn itself.
The forest had no tongue
But it had called the lion several times,
And the leaves pranced
For the wind to carry its message,
Brushing the laments of the lion.
The forest called him "The Lion of the Dawn".
And the forest could only brood
In the whim of each gloaming,
That he could never speak of
What the lion was
And no one would ever find
The lion in his lanky,
Unattractive and farcical veneer.

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Patrick White

I look Into People's Faces

I look into people's faces
and I see the same wound
under many different scars.

I look into their hearts
like a stranger at night
through a passing window
and I see how suffering through
the agonies of life
has ripened some
with sweetness and compassion
and others are already
rotten before they fall.

I look into people's eyes
and some are vast starlit skies
and some are the iota subscripts
of scholarly fireflies
that footnote the constellations
at the bottom of the page
with details off the beaten path
of their MLA mainstream cosmic thesis.

And some are like moons
with parenthetical crescents
with nothing in between
both sides of their smile
that isn't a cynical aside
about the lost innocence
of a phase they've already gone through.

And some stare back like eclipses
that have pulled the blinds down
over their eyes
like sunglasses disguised
by a witness protection program
but you just know
they're oilslicks
on the Sea of Shadows
as they were in the womb
and in the Gulf of Mexico
the black blood
of an incorporated miscarriage
that hemorrhaged like the pot of gold
at the end of the oleaginous rainbow.

I look into people's souls
and I see how afraid
they must be of life
to hide out in the open
like an ocean
that hasn't kept faith
with its own depths
and tries to pretend it's
as airy and light as the sky.

The birds are flying through the roots.
The fish are swimming in the treetops.

I see judas-goats chained
to the stakes of their ego-Is
like sacrificial tiger bait
devoted to their cunning.

I see the anti-muses
that shadow Mt. Helicon
like black holes
in the death valleys
of human imagination.
And I wonder how they ever got here.

What bend in space
led them to this twisted place
like a forsaken road
they keep taking
like a wormhole through time
into the womb
of a stillborn universe
where the moonlight
burns their embryos
on pyres of lime
beside the dry creekbeds
of nameless rivers going nowhere?

Along their flowerless banks
I see the rib-cages of dead snakes
that went witching for water
with tongues and tines
of Kundalini lightning
that ran up their spines
like time through a waterclock
and the hulls of empty lifeboats
that died in the desert
at the bottom of the mirage
they drowned in
hoping to find themselves
among those who survived
by learning to swim through sand
like fish in an hourglass aquarium.

I'd rather walk on stars
reflected in the shattered mirrors
of my last self-image
than repay
the generosity of my solitude
with mass ingratitude.

I listen to people's voices
and they all seem like the same echo
with many different mouths.

I've tried to respect
the mystic specificity
of the thousands of fierce individuals
I've met over the years
but the more I've learned
about myself and others
the more I see the same mind
in many different skulls.
The same genius of inspired water
that poured an ocean
of sentient awareness
into everyone of our cells.

Union differentiates.
Separation binds.
I look into people's faces
however young or old they are
and I see infinite spaces
moonlighting as time
on the nightshift of the stars.

I see horror and compassion.
I see butterflies sipping
the nectar of diamonds
like honey in the promised land
and maggots born in excrement
thriving on offal
like the janitors of the dead
because everything grows best
in the soil it was born into
like karma in the fortune-cookies
of wombs and eggs and cocoons.

I look into people's eyes
like sad stars
through the generous end
of the telescope
that brings the far near
like impact craters
and I see how some people
cling to the memory of themselves
like underground seas
in frozen lockets
of water on the moon.

I look into people's secret shrines
they build like birds
in the eye of the storm
looking for salvation.
And I can hear
the echo of their prayers
bouncing back off hydrogen clouds
like a nineteen twenties radio show
thousands of lightyears away
as if they just said them yesterday
and the universe as usual
threw the words back in their face
like the cosmic background hiss
of snowflakes on a furnace
going out like stars.

I've seen the innocence of fireflies
making halos
and the blood-rose weaving thorns
around the massive blackholes of death
as if they were merely
a pinprick in a voodoo doll
that got into white magic by mistake.

I've looked into
the nuclear blaze of madness
like an A bomb with shades on
and seen the flash and shadow
of embryo silhouettes
spit out like cave paintings
on the firewalls of the fusion wombs
that give birth to the heavier elements
it takes to survive.

But the water's not mad
just because the moon's a lunatic.
The mirror might seem
just as angry as you are
but it doesn't feel a thing.

Learning wisdom is learning space.

It doesn't eat flowers
and the weeds don't sting.
It takes everything it embraces to heart
and nothing's left out
from the very beginning.
Like the whole of the moon and the sky
in every eye of water
that's ever looked into me
and seen that everyone
is the heart of a mystery
whose lucidity
is their only true identity.

It's our seeing
that makes the flowers open
and the stars shine.
It's our hearing that gives
the wind something
meaningful to say
and the grass something
to whisper about.
Whatever you touch
walks in your skin from thereon.
Whatever you taste
be it roses and nettles
or sulphur and wine
or the sour-sweet radiance
of the stars on your tongue
you're the flavour of the day
in everything.

It's your nose
that gives the burning leaves
in the urns of autumn
the spectral fragrance
of chrysanthemums
that are barely holding on.

And it's your mind.
Your heart.
Your blood.
Your body.
Your imagination.
Your intuition.
Your wisdom.
Your ignorance.
Your darkness.
Your light.
Your spirit
enlightened or deluded
whatever you think or feel
is abundantly missing
or dream you're waking up to
that makes the world real
in every mystically specific detail
of who you are.

Who else?
I look into myself
as far as the stars
at the edge of my seeing
fourteen point five billion lightyears away
and I can see how much time and space
how many species of life
generation after generation
have been born to give birth and die.

All the roses swept
from the stairs
of our hopeless tomorrows
because they were a tribute to love
meant for someone else.

All the spontaneous joys
that cast their long random shadows
like occasional fireflies of insight
across the lunar mindscape
of this afterlife of sorrows
where every church is the gravestone
of an unsuspecting god.

I look into my own seeing
like light upon light
in the vast expanse
of an unknowable night
and I'm cosmically astonished
by how many worlds within worlds
eyes within eyes
minds within minds
lives within lives it takes
to make a single habitable human being
meaning everyone of us sacred fools
fit as a genius
for the crazy wisdom
of a creative life
in a self-inspired universe.

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What I've enjoyed most, though, is meeting people who have a real interest in food and sharing ideas with them. Good food is a global thing and I find that there is always something new and amazing to learn - I love it!

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I don't know about the rest of you, but I feel pressed and tense almost every day of my life about something or other. And I think it's the one thing, as I look into people's eyes, that I think I share with almost everybody.

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Haunted Streets

Lo, haply walking in some clattering street--
Where throngs of men and women dumbly pass,
Like shifting pictures seen within a glass
Which leave no trace behind--one seems to meet,
In roads once trodden by our mutual feet,
A face projected from that shadowy mass
Of faces, quite familiar as it was,
Which beaming on us stands out clear and sweet.

The face of faces we again behold
That lit our life when life was very fair,
And leaps our heart toward eyes and mouth and hair:
Oblivious of the undying love grown cold,
Or body sheeted in the churchyard mould,
We stretch out yearning hands and grasp--the air.

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More Verbaler-John

My dad one day
explained women to me.

Home from college
he had planned it;
a special moment between us
and curious beyond belief
and I was all aquiver
anticipating
what my Dad would have to say.

'Now keep in mind 'he said.
'women are not like men
they are always thinking
always feeling
and they pay attention to everything.

Nothing is neutral
when it comes to your female species.
Now you and us menses
can live in caves
eating pizza
and would
if we had the chance;
they civilized us
introduced us to china
forks and spoons
and clean underwear.

Now your dirty socks piled up over there
won't do
if you want to get married
Turn your head to special
days, birthdays and anniversaries
and the day you and your future wife first meet.

Your first date.

Write those dates down on your forehead
Learn to like all women,
but love only
The One.

Don't even
when dating
sneak a peak
at passing Ones.

Don't look too low
at the Twins

Don't look too high
rather take it slow
and look deep into her eyes.

There is where all answers lie.
Memorize her face, her lips;
times she laughs
times she cries.

Above all understand
you have the privilege
of living with someone
who represents
the Superior Ones.
Yes, they are smarter
quicker, verbaler
and you my son
are just along for the ride.

And you know
never in my life
have I gotten
better advice.

And I just yesterday
passed it along
to my son.

.

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Buried Treasure

Now if the aim in your life is to settle me down
I couldnt change my point of view
I got a lady in red at the back of my head
But the women in white is you
Do you wanna be the only one
Fade away in the morning sun
I could love you all of my life
You are my wife
Havent I let you know
We dont need no buried treasure
No buried treasure - we dont need it
We dont stand on ceremony
I love you only - Im proud of it
You can never be all you wanna be
When youre living for gold
We dont need no buried treasure
I still got you
I still go you in my soul
Well its a long way down and you gotta get up
You got to figure on a master plan
You couldnt do it if you dont get ready
When youre beaten by the other man
Do you wanna be the last one in
Play the game that you just dont win
I can see me making you cry
Saying goodbye
But I could never let you go
We dont need no buried treasure
No buried treasure - we dont need it
We dont stand on ceremony
I love you only - Im proud of it
You can never be all you wanna be
When youre living for gold
We dont need no buried treasure
I still got you
I still got you in my soul
Well youre taking my life in the palm of your hand
Make you mine for another day
Aint nobody doesnt need anybody
When the good times turn away
I dont wanna be the lonely one
Fade away in the evening sun
I could love you all of my life
You are my wife
Havent I told you so
We dont need no buried treasure
No, buried treasure - we dont need it
We dont stand on ceremony
I love you only - Im proud of it
You can never be all you wanna be
When youre living for gold
We dont need no buried treasure
I still got you
I still got you in my soul

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The Priests Plunge into Hell

When the mentally deranged
run here and there, or from floor to floor,
look at people around with doubt,
envy over brothers and sisters,
resign jobs in series being unsatisfied,
take ruinous steps to kill themselves,
find fault with the education
their parents were afforded to give them,
pester their parents for money
to give as bribe for a well-paid job,
drive the two wheelers in a furious speed,
the fake priests of religions
rush to cure them
with oil called the blood of some God
to be smeared over the head and body,
or with some black paste.
The mentally sick are chained
and splashed with holy water,
saying it drove the evil spirit out of them.
Those who fall under the spell of devils
display symptoms different
with accompanying fever and shouts.
The poor and ignorant people
fail to take their mind afflicted kin
to a psychiatric clinic
and let the insanity growing.

These priests and touts of asylums
roam in the premises of hospitals,
to lure the people out before the doctors,
advise them against costly treatment.
The gullible people abandon their kin
at asylums believing miracle cures.
The disordered are fettered,
and shut into darker corridors
and tortured by those with cruel mind.
The public hospitals lack medicines
to treat these people ill at brains.
The rulers are to be counseled
for equipping the primary health centers
with blocks for mental care centers.
Patients who need tablets at the start
are left uncared to be treated costly later.
When we fail to take the retarded
to a psychiatrist early,
God will laugh at our folly.
People pipe funds to the terrorists
but do not donate to the care of the batty.

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They Don't Last Forever

They give you a life they look after you,
To them you're their reason for living,
Whatever happens if troubles ensue,
They'll be caring and always forgiving.

Do they own you or is it the other way round,
In fact neither statement is true,
Parent child relationships were made to astound,
You love them and they'll always love you.

They will want you to achieve so much more,
Regardless you will fill them with pride,
With you they will have a unique rapport,
Their devotion will never subside.

They'll try to teach you about good and bad,
To ensure you avoid all their mistakes,
They'll forever be there be it happy or sad,
A good parent just never forsakes.

Yes there'll be times they will get annoyed,
You will bring them to total despair,
Any troubles you have they will never avoid,
For you they will always be there.

You may well think they just interfere,
Their aim is to cause you great strife,
As you grow older it will become clear,
They just want you to have a good life.

They'll try to put up with your mood swings,
Watch over you each day as you grow,
The good times and problems another year brings,
Their love you will feel and will know.

Embarrassing you is a parents right,
There'll be times they will drive you wild,
Regardless of that they will never lose sight,
That to them you will always be their child.

You will do things that will surprise,
Good parents like nothing more,
What you can achieve will open their eyes,
That's why it's you they adore.

If you only strive to do your best,
Without the need for discord,
If with common sense you are blessed,
That will be your parents reward.

When you have children yourself one day
That is when you will learn,
The sacrifice your parents had to pay,
Mutual respect is a gift both must earn.

Your Mum and Dad are messengers from God,
Look after them while they're here,
What they do for us we should all applaud,
Their actions we must truly revere.

Your parents will give you love and care,
That special bond you must never sever,
God's trials of life can be so unfair,
For the pity is,

‘' They Don't Last Forever ''

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Bill and Joe

COME, dear old comrade, you and I
Will steal an hour from days gone by,
The shining days when life was new,
And all was bright with morning dew,
The lusty days of long ago,
When you were Bill and I was Joe.

Your name may flaunt a titled trail
Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail,
And mine as brief appendix wear
As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare;
To-day, old friend, remember still
That I am Joe and you are Bill.

You've won the great world's envied prize,
And grand you look in people's eyes,
With H O N. and L L. D.
In big brave letters, fair to see,--
Your fist, old fellow! off they go!--
How are you, Bill? How are you, Joe?

You've worn the judge's ermined robe;
You've taught your name to half the globe;
You've sung mankind a deathless strain;
You've made the dead past live again:
The world may call you what it will,
But you and I are Joe and Bill.

The chaffing young folks stare and say
"See those old buffers, bent and gray,--
They talk like fellows in their teens
Mad, poor old boys! That's what it means,"--
And shake their heads; they little know
The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe!--

How Bill forgets his hour of pride,
While Joe sits smiling at his side;
How Joe, in spite of time's disguise,
Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes,--
Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill
As Joe looks fondly up at Bill.

Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust,
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust;
A few swift years, and who can show
Which dust was Bill and which was Joe?

The weary idol takes his stand,
Holds out his bruised and aching hand,
While gaping thousands come and go,--
How vain it seems, this empty show!
Till all at once his pulses thrill;--
'T is poor old Joe's "God bless you, Bill!"

And shall we breathe in happier spheres
The names that pleased our mortal ears;
In some sweet lull of harp and song
For earth-born spirits none too long,
Just whispering of the world below
Where this was Bill and that was Joe?

No matter; while our home is here
No sounding name is half so dear;
When fades at length our lingering day,
Who cares what pompous tombstones say?
Read on the hearts that love us still,
Hic jacet Joe. Hic jacet Bill.

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No Book, My Loss

I admit I have no book
I'm sorry for my loss
But looking here and now
Is it really worth the cost
I don't spent my money well
Smoking too much pot
Good times with guitar and friends
That's really what I got
Jamming out
One soul one stage
Amazed and applauded as I misbehave

Why can't I make grades at school
It's something I don't know
Is it simply that I don't care
Or would I rather take the flow
Sometimes people call me dumb
As my peers choose their careers
Bug honestly a life like that
one of my only fears

how can I find peace on this cozy rock today?
Do I have to work for them
When I really want to play for you

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Not at a Loss Chord - after Adelaide Anne Procter – A Lost Chord

Not at a Loss Chord

Playing one day with my organ,
I was blissful – not ill at ease -
while five fingers wandered wildly
web-cams recording each wheeze.

I know the spot vibrating,
less what I was dreaming then,
but I strummed with both will and spirit
and an “Oh My God! Amen! ”

Adrenaline flowed not vainly
from heart to crimson palm,
as it coursed both veins and spirit
with little akin to calm.

It quieted pain and sorrow,
like love overcoming strife;
it seem[en]ed orgasmic echo
to tune discordant life.

It linked all perplexèd meanings
into one perfect peace,
and trembled away into silence
although I was loth to cease.

I have sought, and I seek not vainly,
that one G spot divine,
which linked my soul to the organ
so manifestly mine.

La petite morte delightful
strikes shivering molten core,
as this little verse insightful
calls for en corps encore!


It may be that Death's bright angel
will speak in that chord again,
for its surely in seventh Heaven
one sings “Oh My God! Amen! ”


Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord
8 April 2007

ROBIN Jonathan 1947_2006 robi3_1338_proc1_0001 PXY_MXX Not at a Loss Chord_Playing one day with my organ
A Lost Chord

Seated one day at the Organ,
I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the noisy keys.

I do not know what I was playing,
Or what I was dreaming then;
But I struck one chord of music,
Like the sound of a great Amen.

It flooded the crimson twilight,
Like the close of an Angel's Psalm,
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With a touch of infinite calm.

It quieted pain and sorrow,
Like love overcoming strife;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.

It linked all perplexéd meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence
As if it were loth to cease.

I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the Organ,
And entered into mine.

It may be that Death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again,
It may be that only in Heaven
I shall hear that grand Amen.


Adelaide Anne PROCTER

PROCTER Adelaide Anne 1825_1864 proc1_0001_proc1_0000 PXX_MXX A Lost Chord_Seated on day at the organ

The Lost Chord

Seated one morn at my organ
I was restless and ill-at-ease,
For I had supped too freely
On Kummel and toasted cheese.

I know not what I was playing,
And I wasn’t playing well,
But I struck one chord of music
That lifted the lid off hell.

It howled like a mad gorilla,
It yelped like a blue baboon
As it munches the wild Manilla
In the Mountains of the Moon.

It tied up the simplest meansings
In horrible knots and twists;
It shrouded the dazzling sunlight
In the murk of miasmic mists.

It was barbarous, botulistic,
It linked the Chimaera’s boom
With a dismal, Bedlamistic
And super-decanal gloom.

It shattered my topmost skylight,
It splintered my study door,
And it died away in the twilight
With a galliambic snore.

Oh, I strive with passionate longing
That wondrous chord to recall,
And compose a rhapsody on it
For the Queen’s or the Albert Hall.

I have sought – but I seek it vainly –
That chord so cruel and keen
Which entered the soul of the organ
From the soul of Scriabin.

It may be that Death’s euphonium
That chord some day will sound;
But only in Pandemonium
Will its full effects be found.

Charles Larcom GRAVES Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord

GRAVES Charles Larcom 1856_1944 grav1_0004_grav1_0000 PXX_JXX The Lost Chord_Seated one morn at my organ

GRAVES Charles Larcom 1856_1944 grav1_0004_proc1_0001 PXX_JXX The Lost Chord_Seated one morn at my organ

The Lost Word


Seated one day at the typewriter,
I was weary of a's and e's,
And my fingers wandered wildly,
Over the consonant keys.

I know not what I was writing,
With that thing so like a pen;
But I struck one word astounding -
Unknown to the speech of men.

It flooded the sense of my verses,
Like the break of a tinker's dam,
And I felt as one feels when the printer
Of your 'infinite calm' makes clam.

It mixed up s's and x's
Like an alphabet coming to strife.
It seemed the discordant echo
Of a row between husband and wife.

It brought a perplexed meaning
Into my perfect piece,
And set the machinery creaking
As though it were scant of grease.

I have tried, but I try it vainly,
The one last word to divine
Which came from the keys of my typewriter
And so would pass as mine.

It may be some other typewriter
Will produce that word again,
It may be, but only for others -
I ‘ shall write henceforth with a pen.

John PAUL Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER 1825_1864 A Lost Chord

PAUL John paul3_0001_paul3_0001 PWX_IXX The Lost Word_Seated one day at the typewriter

PAUL John paul3_0001_proc1_0001 PWX_IXX The Lost Word_Seated one day at the typewriter

A Lost Sister

Whisper your Mother’s Name

I was seated one day in a gilded café
In a window that looked on the street
A face caught my eye in a crowd passing by
And I hastedly sprang to my feet

It was my sister's sad face, I had left home to trace
Through her pride she had left us one day
And it brought back to me, as plain as could be
My mother as I heard her say

CHORUS 'If you should see your sister
do not reproach or blame
Tell her how we've missed her
I love her just the same
Say my darling the words that you've brought her
whether in pride or shame
Say that she's still my daughter
Whisper your mother's name'
(Yodel) EEE-yew-dee-oh-lee-oh-lady-ee-hee
yodeledee-yo deledee-hee

There were tears on her face as she passed by the place
and I hastedly sprang to her side
As we walked along I said, 'Nell, we were wrong
We are sorry we wounded your pride.

Your sweetheart is true and still waiting for you
We are willing now you should wed
If you'll only come back, you can marry your Jack
and please your dear mother who says'


CHORUS

Jimmie RODGERS Parody PROCTER Adelaide Anne 1825_1864 A Lost Chord


RODGERS Jimmie rodg1_0001_rodg1_0000 PXX_JXX A Lost Sister_Seated one day in a gilded café

RODGERS Jimmie rodg1_0001_proc1_0001 PXX_JXX A Lost Sister_Seated one day in a gilded café

The Lost Chord

Seated one day at the organ
I jumped as if I’d been shot,
For the Dean was upon me, snarling
‘Stainer – and make it hot.’

All week I swung Stainer and Barnby,
Bach, Gounod, and Bunnett in A;
I said, ‘Gosh, the old bus is a wonder! ”
The Dean, with a nod, said “Okay”.

D.B. Wyndham LEWIS
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER 1825_1864 A Lost Chord

LEWIS D.B. Wyndham 1894_1969 lewi1_0002_lewi1_0000 PXX_JXX The Lost Chord_Seated one day at the organ

LEWIS D.B. Wyndham 1894_1969 lewi1_0002_proc1_0001 PXX_JXX The Lost Chord_Seated one day at the organ

The Lost Discord

Standing one day at his organ,
The grinder seemed quite at ease,
With his monkey idly chasing
The far too-industrious fleas.
I know not what he was playing
(for I was composing then) ,
But I heard someone curse that organ,
And I murmured a great ‘Amen! ’

That discord, it filled the silence
With a sound as of tom-cats lorn;
It racked my brain like a nightmare,
It was worse than an oil-cloth torn.
It was like inharmonious yelling;
It made all the street-dogs whine,
It seems that the soul of that organ
Had spitefully gone for mine.

So I made for that organ-grinder
And swore that I’d break each limb;
And his monkey his fleased ceased chasing,
When he saw I meant chasing him.
It may be in some other quarter
He’s playing that air – and then,
If someone is smashing his organ,
I’ll fervently say, “Amen! ”

Author Unknown ‘Judy’ 26 May 1886
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER 1825_1864 A Lost Chord

pseud Judy PSju1_0004_PUNau_0000 PWX_JXX The Last Discord_Standing one day at his organ

pseud Judy PSju1_0004_proc1_0001 PWX_JXX The Last Discord_Standing one day at his organ

The Lost Drink

Seated one day at a café,
I was thirsty and hot as the sphinx,
And my tongue went babbling idly
Over the names of drinks.
I knew not what I was saying,
Nor what I had uttered then:
But the garçon brought me a mixture
Like a gift of the gods to men.

Its colour a blushing scarlet
Like the tip of a toper’s nose,
And it tickled my fever’d palate
With its flow and after-glows.
It trickled down my gullet
Like oil down a red-hot pipe;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From some supernal swipe.

It linked vin rouge and choice ligueur
Into one perfect drop,
And guggled away down my gullet
As if it were loth to stop.
I have sought – but I seek it vainly –
That one lost drink divine,
Which was mixed by that garçon du café
With curaçoa and red wine.

It may be that some chance garçon
May bring me that drink again;
It may be that some day in Paris
I may utter its name. But then
I never could find that café,
And lost to mortal ken
Is that supernal boisson
Like a gift of the gods to men!

Author Unknown ‘Judy’ 27 October 1886
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord


pseud Judy PSju1_0003_PUNau_0000 PXX_JXX The Lost Drink_Seated one day at a café


The Lost Organ


Seated one day at the organ
With an audience ill-at-ease,
I pulled the stop marked “Bird-song, ”
And the one marked “Autumn Breeze.”
I switched on the rosy lighting,
And when all was ready to start,
I added a touch of thunder –
And the organ fell apart.

John Bingham MORTON 1893_1979 - Dr Strabismus 1949
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord


MORTON J B 1893_1979 mort1_0005_mort1_0000 PWX_MXX The Lost Organ_Seated one day at the organ



The Lost Voice


Seated at Church in the winter
I was frozen in every limb,
And the village choir shrieked wildly
Over a noisy hymn.

I do not know what they were singing,
But while I was watching them
Our Curate began his sermon
With the sound of a slight “Ahem! ”

It frightened the female portion
Like the storm which succeeds a calm,
Both maidens and matrons heard it
With a touch of inane alarm.

It told them of pain and sorrow,
Cold, cough, and neuralgic strife,
Bronchitis and influenza
All aimed at our Curate’s life.

It linked all perplex’d diseases
Into one precious frame;
They trembled with rage if a sceptic
Attempted to ask its name.

They have wrapped him in mustard plasters,
Stuffed him with food and wine,
They have fondled, caressed, and nursed him
With sympathy divine.

It may be that other Curates
Will preach in that church to them,
Will there be every time, Good Heavens!
Such fuss for a slight – Ahem! ?

Author Unknown pseud A.H.S.
Parody Adelaide Anne PROCTER – A Lost Chord

pseud A.H.S. PSah1_0001_proc1_0001 PWX_JXX The Last Voice_Seated at Church in the winter

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Tale IX

EDWARD SHORE.

Genius! thou gift of Heav'n! thou light divine!
Amid what dangers art thou doom'd to shine!
Oft will the body's weakness check thy force,
Oft damp thy vigour, and impede thy course;
And trembling nerves compel thee to restrain
Thy nobler efforts, to contend with pain;
Or want (sad guest!) will in thy presence come,
And breathe around her melancholy gloom:
To life's low cares will thy proud thought confine,
And make her sufferings, her impatience, thine.
Evil and strong, seducing passions prey
On soaring minds, and win them from their way,
Who then to Vice the subject spirits give,
And in the service of the conqu'ror live;
Like captive Samson making sport for all,
Who fear'd their strength, and glory in their fall.
Genius, with virtue, still may lack the aid
Implored by humble minds, and hearts afraid;
May leave to timid souls the shield and sword
Of the tried Faith, and the resistless Word;
Amid a world of dangers venturing forth,
Frail, but yet fearless, proud in conscious worth,
Till strong temptation, in some fatal time,
Assails the heart, and wins the soul to crime,
When left by honour, and by sorrow spent,
Unused to pray, unable to repent,
The nobler powers, that once exalted high
Th' aspiring man, shall then degraded lie:
Reason, through anguish, shall her throne forsake,
And strength of mind but stronger madness make.
When Edward Shore had reach'd his twentieth

year,
He felt his bosom light, his conscience clear;
Applause at school the youthful hero gain'd,
And trials there with manly strength sustain'd:
With prospects bright upon the world he came,
Pure love of virtue, strong desire of fame:
Men watch'd the way his lofty mind would take,
And all foretold the progress he would make.
Boast of these friends, to older men a guide,
Proud of his parts, but gracious in his pride;
He bore a gay good-nature in his face,
And in his air were dignity and grace;
Dress that became his state and years he wore,
And sense and spirit shone in Edward Shore.
Thus, while admiring friends the Youth beheld,
His own disgust their forward hopes repell'd;
For he unfix'd, unfixing, look'd around,
And no employment but in seeking found;
He gave his restless thoughts to views refined,
And shrank from worldly cares with wounded mind.
Rejecting trade, awhile he dwelt on laws,
'But who could plead, if unapproved the cause?'
A doubting, dismal tribe physicians seem'd;
Divines o'er texts and disputations dream'd,
War and its glory he perhaps could love,
But there again he must the cause approve.
Our hero thought no deed should gain applause
Where timid virtue found support in laws;
He to all good would soar, would fly all sin,
By the pure prompting of the will within;
'Who needs a law that binds him not to steal,'
Ask'd the young teacher, 'can he rightly feel?
To curb the will, or arm in honour's cause,
Or aid the weak--are these enforced by laws?
Should we a foul, ungenerous action dread,
Because a law condemns th' adulterous bed?
Or fly pollution, not for fear of stain,
But that some statute tells us to refrain?
The grosser herd in ties like these we bind,
In virtue's freedom moves th' enlighten'd mind.'
'Man's heart deceives him,' said a friend.--'Of

course,'
Replied the Youth; 'but has it power to force?
Unless it forces, call it as you will,
It is but wish, and proneness to the ill.'
'Art thou not tempted?'--'Do I fall?' said

Shore.
'The pure have fallen.'--'Then are pure no more.
While reason guides me, I shall walk aright,
Nor need a steadier hand, or stronger light;
Nor this in dread of awful threats, design'd
For the weak spirit and the grov'ling mind;
But that, engaged by thoughts and views sublime,
I wage free war with grossness and with crime.'
Thus look'd he proudly on the vulgar crew,
Whom statutes govern, and whom fears subdue.
Faith, with his virtue, he indeed profess'd,
But doubts deprived his ardent mind of rest;
Reason, his sovereign mistress, fail'd to show
Light through the mazes of the world below:
Questions arose, and they surpass'd the skill
Of his sole aid, and would be dubious still;
These to discuss he sought no common guide,
But to the doubters in his doubts applied;
When all together might in freedom speak,
And their loved truth with mutual ardour seek.
Alas! though men who feel their eyes decay
Take more than common pains to find their way,
Yet, when for this they ask each other's aid,
Their mutual purpose is the more delay'd:
Of all their doubts, their reasoning clear'd not

one,
Still the same spots were present in the sun:
Still the same scruples haunted Edward's mind,
Who found no rest, nor took the means to find.
But though with shaken faith, and slave to fame,
Vain and aspiring on the world he came,
Yet was he studious, serious, moral, grave,
No passion's victim, and no system's slave:
Vice he opposed, indulgence he disdain'd,
And o'er each sense in conscious triumph reign'd.
Who often reads will sometimes wish to write,
And Shore would yield instruction and delight:
A serious drama he design'd, but found
'Twas tedious travelling in that gloomy ground;
A deep and solemn story he would try,
But grew ashamed of ghosts, and laid it by;
Sermons he wrote, but they who knew his creed,
Or knew it not, were ill-disposed to read;
And he would lastly be the nation's guide,
But, studying, fail'd to fix upon a side;
Fame he desired, and talents he possess'd,
But loved not labour, though he could not rest,
Nor firmly fix the vacillating mind,
That, ever working, could no centre find.
'Tis thus a sanguine reader loves to trace
The Nile forth rushing on his glorious race;
Calm and secure the fancied traveller goes
Through sterile deserts and by threat'ning foes;
He thinks not then of Afric's scorching sands,
Th' Arabian sea, the Abyssinian bands;
Fasils and Michaels, and the robbers all,
Whom we politely chiefs and heroes call:
He of success alone delights to think,
He views that fount, he stands upon the brink,
And drinks a fancied draught, exulting so to drink.
In his own room, and with his books around,
His lively mind its chief employment found;
Then idly busy, quietly employ'd,
And, lost to life, his visions were enjoy'd:
Yet still he took a keen inquiring view
Of all that crowds neglect, desire, pursue;
And thus abstracted, curious, still, serene,
He, unemploy'd, beheld life's shifting scene:
Still more averse from vulgar joys and cares,
Still more unfitted for the world's affairs.
There was a house where Edward ofttimes went,
And social hours in pleasant trifling spent;
He read, conversed, and reason'd, sang and play'd,
And all were happy while the idler stay'd;
Too happy one! for thence arose the pain,
Till this engaging trifler came again.
But did he love? We answer, day by day,
The loving feet would take th' accustom'd way,
The amorous eye would rove as if in quest
Of something rare, and on the mansion rest;
The same soft passion touch'd the gentle tongue,
And Anna's charms in tender notes were sung;
The ear, too, seem'd to feel the common flame,
Soothed and delighted with the fair one's name;
And thus, as love each other part possess'd,
The heart, no doubt, its sovereign power confess'd.
Pleased in her sight, the Youth required no

more;
Not rich himself, he saw the damsel poor;
And he too wisely, nay, too kindly loved,
To pain the being whom his soul approved.
A serious Friend our cautious Youth possess'd,
And at his table sat a welcome guest;
Both unemploy'd, it was their chief delight
To read what free and daring authors write;
Authors who loved from common views to soar,
And seek the fountains never traced before:
Truth they profess'd, yet often left the true
And beaten prospect, for the wild and new.
His chosen friend his fiftieth year had seen,
His fortune easy, and his air serene;
Deist and atheist call'd; for few agreed
What were his notions, principles, or creed;
His mind reposed not, for he hated rest,
But all things made a query or a jest;
Perplex'd himself, he ever sought to prove
That man is doom'd in endless doubt to rove;
Himself in darkness he profess'd to be,
And would maintain that not a man could see.
The youthful Friend, dissentient, reason'd still
Of the soul's prowess, and the subject-will;
Of virtue's beauty, and of honour's force,
And a warm zeal gave life to his discourse:
Since from his feelings all his fire arose,
And he had interest in the themes he chose.
The Friend, indulging a sarcastic smile,
Said, 'Dear enthusiast! thou wilt change thy style,
When man's delusions, errors, crimes, deceit,
No more distress thee, and no longer cheat.'
Yet, lo! this cautious man, so coolly wise,
On a young Beauty fix'd unguarded eyes;
And her he married: Edward at the view
Bade to his cheerful visits long adieu;
But haply err'd, for this engaging bride
No mirth suppress'd, but rather cause supplied:
And when she saw the friends, by reasoning long,
Confused if right, and positive if wrong,
With playful speech, and smile that spoke delight,
She made them careless both of wrong and right.
This gentle damsel gave consent to wed,
With school and school-day dinners in her head:
She now was promised choice of daintiest food,
And costly dress, that made her sovereign good;
With walks on hilly heath to banish spleen,
And summer-visits when the roads were clean.
All these she loved, to these she gave consent,
And she was married to her heart's content.
Their manner this--the Friends together read,
Till books a cause for disputation bred;
Debate then follow'd, and the vapour'd child
Declared they argued till her head was wild;
And strange to her it was that mortal brain
Could seek the trial, or endure the pain.
Then, as the Friend reposed, the younger pair
Sat down to cards, and play'd beside his chair;
Till he, awaking, to his books applied,
Or heard the music of th' obedient bride:
If mild the evening, in the fields they stray'd,
And their own flock with partial eye survey'd;
But oft the husband, to indulgence prone,
Resumed his book, and bade them walk alone.
'Do, my kind Edward--I must take mine ease -
Name the dear girl the planets and the trees:
Tell her what warblers pour their evening song,
What insects flutter, as you walk along;
Teach her to fix the roving thoughts, to bind
The wandering sense, and methodize the mind.'
This was obey'd; and oft when this was done,
They calmly gazed on the declining sun;
In silence saw the glowing landscape fade,
Or, sitting, sang beneath the arbour's shade:
Till rose the moon, and on each youthful face
Shed a soft beauty and a dangerous grace.
When the young Wife beheld in long debate
Tho friends, all careless as she seeming sate,
It soon appear'd there was in one combined
The nobler person and the richer mind:
He wore no wig, no grisly beard was seen,
And none beheld him careless or unclean,
Or watch'd him sleeping. We indeed have heard
Of sleeping beauty, and it has appear'd;
'Tis seen in infants--there indeed we find
The features soften'd by the slumbering mind;
But other beauties, when disposed to sleep,
Should from the eye of keen inspector keep:
The lovely nymph who would her swain surprise,
May close her mouth, but not conceal her eyes;
Sleep from the fairest face some beauty takes,
And all the homely features homelier makes:
So thought our wife, beholding with a sigh
Her sleeping spouse, and Edward smiling by.
A sick relation for the husband sent;
Without delay the friendly sceptic went;
Nor fear'd the youthful pair, for he had seen
The wife untroubled, and the friend serene;
No selfish purpose in his roving eyes,
No vile deception in her fond replies:
So judged the husband, and with judgment true,
For neither yet the guilt or danger knew.
What now remain'd? but they again should play
Th' accustom'd game, and walk th' accustom'd way;
With careless freedom should converse or read,
And the Friend's absence neither fear nor heed:
But rather now they seem'd confused, constrain'd;
Within their room still restless they remain'd,
And painfully they felt, and knew each other

pain'd.
Ah, foolish men! how could ye thus depend,
One on himself, the other on his friend?
The Youth with troubled eye the lady saw,
Yet felt too brave, too daring to withdraw;
While she, with tuneless hand the jarring keys
Touching, was not one moment at her ease:
Now would she walk, and call her friendly guide,
Now speak of rain, and cast her cloak aside;
Seize on a book, unconscious what she read,
And restless still to new resources fled;
Then laugh'd aloud, then tried to look serene;
And ever changed, and every change was seen.
Painful it is to dwell on deeds of shame -
The trying day was past, another came;
The third was all remorse, confusion, dread,
And (all too late!) the fallen hero fled.
Then felt the Youth, in that seducing time,
How feebly Honour guards the heart from crime:
Small is his native strength; man needs the stay,
The strength imparted in the trying day;
For all that Honour brings against the force
Of headlong passion, aids its rapid course;
Its slight resistance but provokes the fire,
As wood-work stops the flame, and then conveys it

higher.
The Husband came; a wife by guilt made bold
Had, meeting, soothed him, as in days of old;
But soon this fact transpired; her strong distress,
And his Friend's absence, left him nought to guess.
Still cool, though grieved, thus prudence bade

him write -
'I cannot pardon, and I will not fight;
Thou art too poor a culprit for the laws,
And I too faulty to support my cause:
All must be punish'd; I must sigh alone,
At home thy victim for her guilt atone;
And thou, unhappy! virtuous now no more,
Must loss of fame, peace, purity deplore;
Sinners with praise will pierce thee to the heart,
And saints, deriding, tell thee what thou art.'
Such was his fall; and Edward, from that time,
Felt in full force the censure and the crime -
Despised, ashamed; his noble views before,
And his proud thoughts, degraded him the more:
Should he repent--would that conceal his shame?
Could peace be his? It perish'd with his fame:
Himself he scorn'd, nor could his crime forgive;
He fear'd to die, yet felt ashamed to live:
Grieved, but not contrite, was his heart;

oppress'd,
Not broken; not converted, but distress'd;
He wanted will to bend the stubborn knee,
He wanted light the cause of ill to see,
To learn how frail is man, how humble then should

be;
For faith he had not, or a faith too weak
To gain the help that humble sinners seek;
Else had he pray'd--to an offended God
His tears had flown a penitential flood;
Though far astray, he would have heard the call
Of mercy--'Come! return, thou prodigal:'
Then, though confused, distress'd, ashamed, afraid,
Still had the trembling penitent obey'd;
Though faith had fainted, when assail'd by fear,
Hope to the soul had whisper'd, 'Persevere!'
Till in his Father's house, an humbled guest,
He would have found forgiveness, comfort, rest.
But all this joy was to our Youth denied
By his fierce passions and his daring pride;
And shame and doubt impell'd him in a course,
Once so abhorr'd, with unresisted force,
Proud minds and guilty, whom their crimes oppress,
Fly to new crimes for comfort and redress;
So found our fallen Youth a short relief
In wine, the opiate guilt applies to grief, -
From fleeting mirth that o'er the bottle lives,
From the false joy its inspiration gives, -
And from associates pleased to find a friend
With powers to lead them, gladden, and defend,
In all those scenes where transient ease is found,
For minds whom sins oppress and sorrows wound.
Wine is like anger; for it makes us strong,
Blind, and impatient, and it leads us wrong;
The strength is quickly lost, we feel the error

long:
Thus led, thus strengthen'd, in an evil cause,
For folly pleading, sought the Youth applause;
Sad for a time, then eloquently wild,
He gaily spoke as his companions smiled;
Lightly he rose, and with his former grace
Proposed some doubt, and argued on the case;
Fate and foreknowledge were his favourite themes -
How vain man's purpose, how absurd his schemes:
'Whatever is, was ere our birth decreed;
We think our actions from ourselves proceed,
And idly we lament th' inevitable deed;
It seems our own, but there's a power above
Directs the motion, nay, that makes us move;
Nor good nor evil can you beings name,
Who are but rooks and castles in the game;
Superior natures with their puppets play,
Till, bagg'd or buried, all are swept away.'
Such were the notions of a mind to ill
Now prone, but ardent and determined still:
Of joy now eager, as before of fame,
And screen'd by folly when assail'd by shame,
Deeply he sank; obey'd each passion's call,
And used his reason to defend them all.
Shall I proceed, and step by step relate
The odious progress of a Sinner's fate?
No--let me rather hasten to the time
(Sure to arrive!) when misery waits on crime.
With Virtue, prudence fled; what Shore possessed
Was sold, was spent, and he was now distressed:
And Want, unwelcome stranger, pale and wan,
Met with her haggard looks the hurried man:
His pride felt keenly what he must expect
From useless pity and from cold neglect.
Struck by new terrors, from his friends he fled,
And wept his woes upon a restless bed;
Retiring late, at early hour to rise,
With shrunken features, and with bloodshot eyes:
If sleep one moment closed the dismal view,
Fancy her terrors built upon the true:
And night and day had their alternate woes,
That baffled pleasure, and that mock'd repose;
Till to despair and anguish was consign'd
The wreck and ruin of a noble mind.
Now seized for debt, and lodged within a jail,
He tried his friendships, and he found them fail;
Then fail'd his spirits, and his thoughts were all
Fix'd on his sins, his sufferings, and his fall:
His ruffled mind was pictured in his face,
Once the fair seat of dignity and grace:
Great was the danger of a man so prone
To think of madness, and to think alone;
Yet pride still lived, and struggled to sustain
The drooping spirit and the roving brain;
But this too fail'd: a Friend his freedom gave,
And sent him help the threat'ning world to brave;
Gave solid counsel what to seek or flee,
But still would stranger to his person be:
In vain! the truth determined to explore,
He traced the Friend whom he had wrong'd before.
This was too much; both aided and advised
By one who shunn'd him, pitied, and despised:
He bore it not; 'twas a deciding stroke,
And on his reason like a torrent broke:
In dreadful stillness he appear'd a while,
With vacant horror and a ghastly smile;
Then rose at once into the frantic rage,
That force controlled not, nor could love assuage.
Friends now appear'd, but in the Man was seen
The angry Maniac, with vindictive mien;
Too late their pity gave to care and skill
The hurried mind and ever-wandering will:
Unnoticed pass'd all time, and not a ray
Of reason broke on his benighted way;
But now he spurn'd the straw in pure disdain,
And now laugh'd loudly at the clinking chain.
Then, as its wrath subsided by degrees,
The mind sank slowly to infantine ease,
To playful folly, and to causeless joy,
Speech without aim, and without end, employ;
He drew fantastic figures on the wall,
And gave some wild relation of them all;
With brutal shape he join'd the human face,
And idiot smiles approved the motley race.
Harmless at length th' unhappy man was found,
The spirit settled, but the reason drown'd;
And all the dreadful tempest died away
To the dull stillness of the misty day.
And now his freedom he attain'd--if free
The lost to reason, truth, and hope, can be;
His friends, or wearied with the charge, or sure
The harmless wretch was now beyond a cure,
Gave him to wander where he pleased, and find
His own resources for the eager mind:
The playful children of the place he meets,
Playful with them he rambles through the streets;
In all they need, his stronger arm he lends,
And his lost mind to these approving friends.
That gentle Maid, whom once the Youth had loved,
Is now with mild religious pity moved;
Kindly she chides his boyish flights, while he
Will for a moment fix'd and pensive be;
And as she trembling speaks, his lively eyes
Explore her looks, he listens to her sighs;
Charm'd by her voice, th' harmonious sounds invade
His clouded mind, and for a time persuade:
Like a pleased infant, who has newly caught
From the maternal glance a gleam of thought,
He stands enrapt, the half-known voice to hear,
And starts, half conscious, at the falling tear.
Rarely from town, nor then unwatch'd, he goes,
In darker mood, as if to hide his woes;
Returning soon, he with impatience seeks
His youthful friends, and shouts, and sings, and

speaks;
Speaks a wild speech with action all is wild -
The children's leader, and himself a child;
He spins their top, or, at their bidding, bends
His back, while o'er it leap his laughing friends;
Simple and weak, he acts the boy once more,
And heedless children call him Silly Shore.

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