I say that democracy can never prove itself beyond cavil, until it founds and luxuriantly grows its own forms of art, poems, schools, theology, displacing all that exists, or that has been produced anywhere in the past, under opposite influences.
I could burn this place down As many times as I'd like in my mind, Without any sympathy For the girl or her mother Who live beneath me
I will come back to you, I swear I will; And you will know me still. I shall be only a little taller Than when I went.
I had a funny feeling as I saw the house disappear, as though I had written a poem and it was very good and I had lost it and would never remember it again.
He that reads and grows no wiser seldom suspects his own deficiency, but complains of hard words and obscure sentences, and asks why books are written which cannot be understood.
OMG! I DESIGNED THIS NEW SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM! IT'S CALLED "POETRY" - YOU HAVE TO READ AMY KING'S POEMS TO GET AN INVITE ~
Ahead and to the west was our ranger station - and the mountains of Idaho, poems of geology stretching beyond any boundaries and seemingly even beyond the world.
No matter how you are taught by your teacher about how to recite a poem, it is impossible to wear your teacher's smiling face to the stage. You got to change your own face into a smiling one!
I often ask the question: Is it impossible to have a simple life? The world is not simple, Claire said. The world is not simple. Joe repeated the phrase like the line of a great poem.
Now seen...now gone, The butterfly flits in and out Through fence-hung flowers; But a life lived so close to them I envy...though it's here and gone.
Beyond this life and This world I'll have it til My heart's content: The bright moon that passed over The horizon before I had my fill.
Last year, Yoshino, I walked away bending branches To point me to blossoms-- Which now are everywhere and I can Go where I've never been before.
Thine are these orbs of light and shade; Thou madest Life in man and brute; Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made.
To stand up straight and tread the turning mill, To lie flat and know nothing and be still, Are the two trades of man; and which is worse I know not, but I know that both are ill.
His vision, from the constantly passing bars, has grown so weary that it cannot hold anything else. It seems to him there are a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.
Bob, I am grateful for your Three letter name. It's another reminder of home Of a world predictable Of a life I had.
Now we’re guests in a faraway land nearly 40 years on. No trees, no cool breeze, no best friends. Only endless days spent in sending SMSs...
One breath taken completely; one poem, fully written, fully read - in such a moment, anything can happen.
With love, it’s better to act now and think later. Write your love poem after you’ve made love, and not before.
Ah! The anguish, the vile rage, the despair Of not being able to express With a shout, an extreme and bitter shout, The bleeding of my heart.
I love you My life stretched over a bridge I need you My life stretched over you
