Quotes about relics, page 10
Love Sonnet 41 If dreams are strung from end to end like string,
If dreams are strung from end to end like string,
My dreams of you could wrap around the world,
And all the ways your name, my mind did bring,
Are way much more than how my thoughts unfurled;
Though mornings wait until my nights are done,
Where everything happens without intent,
Like water flowing free, of duress none,
While in pursuit of joys to hearts content;
But Dreamland holds no graves for yesterday,
Where relics may be dug to vouch the past,
No bones, no dust which must all fade away,
Just dreams that not after the waking last;
.....With none to show for love that has transpired,
.....How else to show the love you have inspired.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Hope
Hope was but a timid friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.
She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars, one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!
Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.
False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;
[...] Read more
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
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Monuments For A Friendly Girl At A Tenth Grade Party
The only relics left are those long
spangled seconds our school clock chipped out
when you crossed the social hall
and we found each other alive,
by our glances never to accept our town's
ways, torture for advancement,
nor ever again be prisoners by choice.
Now I learn you died
serving among the natives of Garden City,
Kansas, part of a Peace Corps
before governments thought of it.
Ruth, over the horizon your friends eat
foreign chaff and have addresses like titles,
but for you the crows and hawks patrol
the old river. May they never
forsake you, nor you need monuments
[...] Read more
poem by William Stafford
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The Ice-Cream
Lollipops connect to make new creams,
I have certainty that the path may beckon,
And life sorts out the trails and tracks
Of my former life.
Ice cream resides in the head, often enough
Apt and deliberately the show has responded;
My living created a bear of the other hidden factors
Much progressed and as of now.
Why does it sit and spin new agenda?
In his claws we see erect a barrier of the language
One sings to the time of prophetic understanding,
They are men of learning and wisdom as well.
I possess the gifts one swallows for the ends of the relics,
Meanings are simply pitiful when highlighted,
As the meaning of the living has a square
After the name of the family.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Hope
Hope Was but a timid friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.
She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!
Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.
False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;
[...] Read more
poem by Emily Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The New Ezekiel
What, can these dead bones live, whose sap is dried
By twenty scorching centuries of wrong?
Is this the House of Israel, whose pride
Is as a tale that's told, an ancient song?
Are these ignoble relics all that live
Of psalmist, priest, and prophet? Can the breath
Of very heaven bid these bones revive,
Open the graves and clothe the ribs of death?
Yea, Prophesy, the Lord hath said. Again
Say to the wind, Come forth and breathe afresh,
Even that they may live upon these slain,
And bone to bone shall leap, and flesh to flesh.
The Spirit is not dead, proclaim the word,
Where lay dead bones, a host of armed men stand!
I ope your graves, my people, saith the Lord,
And I shall place you living in your land.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Poetry Societies
Poetry Societies
cherish their chosen
poet with such passionate
fervour ardent intensity
promote them safeguard them
maintain religiously preserve
their sacred recordings writings
like interactive shrine museums
white gloves sealed immaculate
pristine white when handling
sacred artifacts from centuries past
holy relics encased in icon niche
keepers of sacred
poetic fire
protectors of
treasured Holy Grails
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Fossilized Relics
That which had been great,
But unappreciated.
Can not be sustained,
On the strains of an aging memory...
Of that which was.
And...
On hype alone.
A significance unknown...
And over time,
Blown out of proportion.
Should be exalted and shown,
By a constant re-examination...
Of a proven existence.
But the flapping of lips,
Describing the influence...
Of this significance,
Is no different than a myth.
Covered by layers of dirt...
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Here to Create History
Not one am I,
For nostalgic inflictions.
To revisit a past...
I have loosened from my grasp.
I am proud and that is carried.
Nationalistic confrontations...
Awarded by scars and wounds.
May interest your curiousity!
But not one for me...
That freely releases.
With a forward speed,
To produce and leave behind
'Greater' deeds to achieve!
I am here to create history.
Not relive a single bit of it!
I am not into antiques.
They have no value to me.
Or on this path I burn...
To leave my markings!
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Ruins Of Nalandha
Tears rolled down from our eyes
while standing on the relics
of Nalandha, where seers and monks
discoursed upon the ways for a world
without the futile war and want.
Those who sneaked in from the West,
and those who sneered at the host,
razed it and burnt the holy books.
The sky was also weeping
and we were wet, but mute,
seeing around the sites and mounds.
A secular centre met its grave
as the brutes roamed with a spirit
to kill, loot and destroy.
The remnants reveal their creed!
There the nations should meet
to cull up a common cult to all.
May love of mankind rise out of the ruins!
[...] Read more
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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