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Death Is Not The End

When youre sad and when youre lonely and you havent got a friend
Just remember that death is not the end
And all that youve held sacred, falls down and does not mend
Just remember that death is no the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end
When youre standing at the crossroads that you cannot comprehend
Just remember that death is not the end
And all your dreams have vanished and you dont know whats up the bend
Just remember that death is not the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end
When the storm clouds gather round you, and heavy rains descend
Just remember that death is not the end
And theres no one there to comfort you, with a helpin hand to lend
Just remember that death is not the end
Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end
Oh, the tree of life is growing
Where the spirit never dies

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song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Imagine A Man

Imagine a man
Not a child of any revolt
Imagine a man
But a plain man tied up in life
Imagine the sand
Imagine a man
Running out as he struts
Not a child of any revolt
Parading and fading, ignoring his wife
But a plain man tied up in life
Imagine a road
Imagine the sand
So long looking backwards
Running out as he struts
You cant see where it really began
Parading and fading, ignoring his wife
Imagine a load
Imagine a road
So large and so smooth
So long looking backwards

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song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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August 7, 4: 15

J. bon jovi
It was another day
A perfect texas afternoon
A mother and two children play
The way they always do
As they raced home from the mailbox
A mother and her son
Against a little girl of 6 years old
The independant one
The deputies went door to door
Through all the neighborhood
They said I got some news to tell you folks
Im afraid it aint so good
Somehow something happened
Someone got away
Someone got the answers for what happened here today
Oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no, no
Tell me it was just a dream - august 7 4:15
God closed his eyes and the world got mean
August 7 4:15

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song performed by Bon Jovi
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Sydney International Exhibition

Now, while Orion, flaming south, doth set
A shining foot on hills of wind and wet—
Far haughty hills beyond the fountains cold
And dells of glimmering greenness manifold—
While August sings the advent of the Spring,
And in the calm is heard September’s wing,
The lordly voice of song I ask of thee,
High, deathless radiance—crowned Calliope!
What though we never hear the great god’s lays
Which made all music the Hellenic days—
What though the face of thy fair heaven beams
Still only on the crystal Grecian streams—
What though a sky of new, strange beauty shines
Where no white Dryad sings within the pines:
Here is a land whose large, imperial grace
Must tempt thee, goddess, in thine holy place!
Here are the dells of peace and plenilune,
The hills of morning and the slopes of noon;
Here are the waters dear to days of blue,
And dark-green hollows of the noontide dew;

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poem by Henry Kendall
Added by Poetry Lover
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Soccer Rollback

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Eternal Creation

The Parent’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to the child; but to irrefutably ensure that the infant was nourished with their breath and blood till the time it could unflinchingly fend for its symbiotic survival; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created them for,

The Sun’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to light; but to irrefutably ensure that the rays optimistically enlightened even the most infinitesimally lugubrious cranny of remorsefully cloistered earth; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Rose’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to fragrance; but to irrefutably ensure that the majestic resplendence ebulliently blossomed into the lives of countless haplessly beleaguered and bereaved; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Peak’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to victory; but to irrefutably ensure that the royal triumph peerlessly massacred even the most ethereal iota of devilishness form this Universe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

Nature’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to newness; but to irrefutably ensure that the evolution metamorphosed every bit of egregiously stagnating ghoulishness into a sky of rhapsodic freshness; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Cloud’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to rain; but to irrefutably ensure that the water stupendously ignited vivaciously iridescent life in every ingredient of hopelessly dying soil; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Conscience’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to truth; but to irrefutably ensure that the righteousness insuperably conquered every trace of diabolical lies on earth and the atmosphere; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Ocean’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to salt; but to irrefutably ensure that the tanginess wonderfully illuminated every treacherously spiceles and deliriously lackadaisical moment of life; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Poet’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to fantasy; but to irrefutably ensure that the dream spellbindingly impregnates the winds of Omnipotent romance into monotonously monstrous robots; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created him for,

The Lip’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to smiles; but to irrefutably ensure that the happiness altruistically perpetually perpetuates into every dwelling incarcerated in chains of murderous gloom; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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End Of The Week

I get out of work
And then I throw away all of my cares
I get out of work
And then I wash the week out my hair
Monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday
Its hard as could be
But by old friday evening
Were free, were free, were free
End of the week
The weekend started
Been working so hard to play
End of the week
Its time to party
End of the week
End of the week
End of the week
Youre tasting freedom
No one to push you around
End of the week
And life has a reason

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song performed by Donna Summer
Added by Lucian Velea
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End Of A Dream

Dream.....
End of a dream.....
Where do you stand
at the end of
a dream..

All is behind; 'round in your
head
Splinters of sound, words that
were said;

Broken like toys, days that were
planned
Gone into mist, sunk into sand

There's no place to stand
At the end of a dream.....

End.....
End of a dream.....

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poem by Isabelle Cooper
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I. The Ring and the Book

Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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