From time to time a poem

coming for you right now
middle of the night now
whos gonna be the light now
im not afraid to fight
and I know how to know im right now!

look straight into my eyes and the lies
are exposed in the throws of demise
of those who chose to trade blows with the wise
as he closes his eyes
to see roses and skies
he despises the hate of his surmises
apprises
the fate of his disguises and lies is suprise
is unpleasant for the lost and the eyeless
apply this
dont be afraid to die
its the only way to fly
you can make it to the sky if you try
and no day will pass you by
and you cry as you laugh
cause you tried and at last
you arrived and alas
had to die to your past
yet survived all the paths
of resentment and wrath
and the pain of the shame
and the games still remain
but the rules have to change
cause the fools that remain
looke like jewels that disdain
their own glimmer and claim
that their chains make them sane
while their shimmer is stained and unpolished
in pain unacknowledged
and you have this knowledge
its here with you right now
the middle of the night now
your turn to be a light now
dont be afraid to fight
you know how to know youre right now!
who's coming for you right now?
who's coming for you right now?


_______
I think this belong here more than the songs thread cause songs are performed by musicians while lyrics are written by poets

she shines
in a world full of ugliness
she matters when everything is meaningless

fragile
she doesn't see her beauty
she tries to get away
sometimes
it's just that nothing seems worth saving
I can't watch her slip away

I won't let you fall apart

she reads the minds of all the people as they pass her by
hoping someone can see
if I could fix myseld I'd - but it's too late for me

I wont let you fall apart

we'll find the perfect place to go where we can run and hide
I'll build a wall and we can keep them on the other side
...but they keep waiting
...and picking...

it's something I have to do
I was there, too
before everyhting else
I was like you

- NIN (The Fragile)

crystal light
shadows dance in subtle conformity
sweet lies sweetly spoken
rolling
smoothly from her lips
falling
shattering
the cacophony of illusion revealed
pierces the essence

a soul can die in that sound

what does one say to a son who is making his way to the war?
when "dont go" and "see ya there" are equally impossible

honor is not an empty word

courage and faith are not mere balms of rhetoric for the weak

the spartans used to say "come home carrying your shield, or being carried in it"

because a loss to cowardice is a greater loss than death

and each of us must choose

learn well what they teach you
come home without shame
do your best
belive in the sufficiency of your light
i am proud of you

Etre Jeune... ('Youth' in English follows)

La jeunesse n'est pas une période de la vie,
elle est un état d'esprit, un effet de la volonté,
une qualité de l'imagination, une intensité émotive,
une victoire du courage sur la timidité,
du goût de l'aventure sur l'amour du confort.
On ne devient pas vieux pour avoir vécu un certain nombre d'années :
on devient vieux parce qu'on a déserté son idéal.
Les années rident la peau ; renoncer à son idéal ride l'âme.
Les préoccupations, les doutes, les craintes et les désespoirs
sont les ennemis qui, lentement, nous font pencher vers la terre
et devenir poussière avant la mort.
Jeune est celui qui s'étonne et s'émerveille. Il demande
comme l'enfant insatiable : Et après ? Il défie les événements
et trouve de la joie au jeu de la vie.
Vous êtes aussi jeune que votre foi. Aussi vieux que votre doute.
Aussi jeune que votre confiance en vous-même.
Aussi jeune que votre espoir. Aussi vieux que votre abattement.
Vous resterez jeune tant que vous resterez réceptif.
Réceptif à ce qui est beau, bon et grand. Réceptif aux messages
de la nature, de l'homme et de l'infini.
Si un jour, votre coeur allait être mordu par le pessimisme
et rongé par le cynisme, puisse Dieu avoir pitié de votre âme de vieillard.

_{Général Mac Arthur, Normal Instructor & Primary Plan ,1945.
Traduction de Youth de Samuel Ulman (1840-1924)}

'Youth'

Youth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind; it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees; it is a matter of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions; it is the freshness of the deep springs of life.

Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity of the appetite, for adventure over the love of ease. This often exists in a man of sixty more than a boy of twenty. Nobody grows old merely by a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals.

Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Worry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart and turns the spirit back to dust.

Whether sixty or sixteen, there is in every human being's heart the lure of wonder, the unfailing child-like appetite of what's next, and the joy of the game of living. In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wireless station; so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage and power from men and from the infinite, so long are you young.

When the aerials are down, and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicism and the ice of pessimism, then you are grown old, even at twenty, but as long as your aerials are up, to catch the waves of optimism, there is hope you may die young at eighty.

Samuel Ullman

I don't care if Monday's blue
Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too
Thursday i don't care about you
It's Friday ... yeah...

Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart
Thursday doesn't even start
It's Friday ...

Saturday wait
And sunday always comes too late
But Friday never hesitate...

I don't care if Monday's black
Tuesday, Wednesday heart attack
Thursday never looking back
It's Friday *nods*

Monday you can hold your head
Tuesday, Wednesday stay in bed
Or Thursday watch the walls instead
It's Friday -

Saturday wait
And sunday always comes too late
But Friday never hesitate...

Dressed up to the eyes
It's a wonderful surprise
To see your shoes and your spirits rise
Throwing out your frown
And just smiling at the sound
And as sleek as a shriek
Spinning round and round
Always take a big bite
It's such a gorgeous sight
To see you in the middle of the night
You can never get enough
Enough of this stuff
It's Friday


I don't care if Monday's blue
Tuesday's grey and VVednesday too
Thursday I don't care about you
It's Friday... :blush:

Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart
Thursday doesn't even start
It's Friday...

- The Cure

Not really a poem but it is kind of poetic.. plus I love it:


“CHORONZON: I am a dire wolf, prey-stalking, lethal prowler.

MORPHEUS: I am a hunter, horse-mounted, wolf-stabbing.

CHORONZON: I am a horsefly, horse-stinging, hunter-throwing.

MORPHEUS: I am a spider, fly-consuming, eight legged.

CHORONZON: I am a snake, spider-devouring, posion-toothed.

MORPHEUS: I am an ox, snake-crushing, heavy-footed.

CHORONZON: I am an anthrax, butcher bacterium, warm-life destroying.

MORPHEUS: I am a world, space-floating, life-nurturing.

CHORONZON: I am a nova, all-exploding... planet-cremating.

MORPHEUS: I am the Universe -- all things encompassing, all life embracing.

CHORONZON: I am Anti-Life, the Beast of Judgement. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds... of everything. Sss. And what will you be then, Dreamlord?

MORPHEUS: I am hope.”

Neil Gaiman - Preludes and Nocturns (Sandman Volume 1)

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

Shakespeare's The Tempest, Act 4 Scene 1