Some people come into our lives and quickly go.
Some people move our souls to dance.
They awaken us to new understanding
with the passing whisper of their wisdom.
Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon.
They stay in our lives for awhile,
leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never,
ever the same.
We Are one
my heart beats in Your chest
my breath breathes in Your air
my eyes see through Your eyes
my hands touch through Your hands
my soul magnifies Your soul
my words are Your words
my feet walk in Your footprints
my mind unifies with Your mind
together we are one being.
A part of life no one can see
is how Your love has captured me.
Monsoon Season
I killed like a god once,
No remorse or anger, no pity or passion.
Like a Monsoon,
I wreaked destruction when set loose
and left my victims in scattered remains.
My hands had the power of the wind,
my soul had no hesitation,
and my heart was as hard as the mountain.
My Monsoon season has passed now,
and I find myself just a man.
The wind has gone from my hands,
and the storms have left their destruction in my soul.
My heart is no longer made of stone,
No, it's very much flesh and blood...
And as I walk through these scattered ruins,
how it bleeds and bleeds, and bleeds.
by Michael Cox
Spoils of the Dead
Two fairies it was
On a still summer day
Came forth in the woods
With the flowers to play.
The flowers they plucked
They cast on the ground
For others, and those
For still others they found.
Flower-guided it was
That they came as they ran
On something that lay
In the shape of a man.
The snow must have made
The feathery bed
When this one fell
On the sleep of the dead.
But the snow was gone
A long time ago,
And the body he wore
Nigh gone with the snow.
The fairies drew near
And keenly espied
A ring on his hand
And a chain at his side.
They knelt in the leaves
And eerily played
With the glittering things,
And were not afraid.
And when they went home
To hide in their burrow,
They took them along
To play with to-morrow.
When you came on death,
Did you not come flower-guided
Like the elves in the wood?
I remember that I did.
But I recognised death
With sorrow and dread,
And I hated and hate
The spoils of the dead.
by Robert Frost - 1913
Alone
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
by Edgar Allan Poe - 1830
Down By The Salley Gardens
Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.
In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
by Willam Butler Yates
