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Rain Comes And Goes

rain comes and goes
like a friendship
but rain just disappears when it's over

if rain can be a bad friendship i think we all get it
if it can be a good friendship we don't see it that much, but it comes
if i see it then so will you

if it lands just under your eye and rolls down your cheek
make sure you don't get it mixed up with a tear
because that rain was a break-up

rain describes so much, but mostly sadness
thats why it comes more than sunny days
we all want sunny days but mostly get rain

thats why rain makes us stronger
sun just makes you think nothing bad will happen
but it's not a real friendship if nothing bad happens

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poem by Dani Lynch
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Good Friendship

In friendship lies, life’s beauty prime –
A bond that stands the test of time,
And withstands every change of clime.

Good friendship makes life worth living;
Than taking, life is in giving –
The crux of friendship, worth telling!

Our earthly life would be a bore,
Without good friendship at its core:
That takes each person to the fore!

Though parents care for their children,
And relatives for kith and kin,
Yet, friends usher on earth, heaven!

Happy the ones, who have good friends!
Their worries in life, almost ends:
In need, good friend always attends.

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poem by John Celes
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True Frıendship

Your friends are your needs answered;
They are your field which you sow
With Love and harvest with thanksgiving

Friends provide drink and sustenance
When you suffer with hunger and thirst

When friends speak their minds you fear not;
Saying “No”, nor withhold saying “Yes”

When friends are silent;
Your heart need not cease listening to their heart

Without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires,
All expectations are born and shared, with joy unbound

Let their be no purpose in friendship save
The deepening of your spiritual connection

Always give the best of who you are and what you have to friends,

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poem by Ray Lucero
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A statement about art & friendship

It is the friendship that she carries well
On summer day

In the writing workshop
She wins their hearts

When she is asked to read her poems
Or say, show her masterpiece

She merely smiles
Her friendship is her piece her only masterpiece

Her smile is her only word written on
Her face

And they all say it is enough
A smile can save the world

But I beg to disagree
A smile cannot save me

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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True Friendship

Friendship, thou balm for ev'ry ill,
I must aspire to thee;
Whose breezes bid the heart be still,
And render sweet the patient's pill,
And set the pris'ner free.

Friendship, it is the softest soul
Which feels another's pain;
And must with equal sighs condole,
While sympathetic streamlets roll,
Which nothing can restrain.

Not to be nominated smart,
Of mortals to be seen,
She does not thus her gifts impart,
Her aid is from a feeling heart,
A principle within.

When the lone stranger, forced to roam,
Comes shiv'ring to her door,

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poem by George Moses Horton
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The Three Friends

Three young girls in friendship met;
Mary, Martha, Margaret.
Margaret was tall and fair,
Martha shorter by a hair;
If the first excelled in feature,
The other's grace and ease were greater;
Mary, though to rival loth,
In their best gifts equalled both.
They a due proportion kept;
Martha mourned if Margaret wept;
Margaret joyed when any good
She of Martha understood;
And in sympathy for either
Mary was outdone by neither.
Thus far, for a happy space,
All three ran an even race,
A most constant friendship proving,
Equally beloved and loving;
All their wishes, joys, the same;
Sisters only not in name.

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poem by Charles Lamb
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Breathe In Emotion

Something here
Something is cold and you know
To speak now is to lie
Sad mistake
Maybe its mine but I know
You wake up with strangers
Is this love
If I said goodbye there would be
No-one to listen
I could ask
How do you feel? but I know
You breathe in emotion
So goodbye
I cant play anymore
So goodbye
Im off the friendship line
So goodbye
Im breathing emotion like some hero
Breathe in emotion
I could cry

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song performed by Gary Numan
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Harp Of Hoel

It was a high and holy sight,
When Baldwin and his train,
With cross and crosier gleaming bright,
Came chanting slow the solemn rite,
To Gwentland's pleasant plain.

High waved before, in crimson pride,
The banner of the Cross;
The silver rood was then descried,
While deacon youths, from side to side,
The fuming censer toss.

The monks went two and two along,
And winding through the glade,
Sang, as they passed, a holy song,
And harps and citterns, 'mid the throng,
A mingled music made.

They ceased; when lifting high his hand,
The white-robed prelate cried:

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poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Don Juan: Canto The Fourteenth

If from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,
Perhaps mankind might find the path they miss--
But then 'twould spoil much good philosophy.
One system eats another up, and this
Much as old Saturn ate his progeny;
For when his pious consort gave him stones
In lieu of sons, of these he made no bones.

But System doth reverse the Titan's breakfast,
And eats her parents, albeit the digestion
Is difficult. Pray tell me, can you make fast,
After due search, your faith to any question?
Look back o'er ages, ere unto the stake fast
You bind yourself, and call some mode the best one.
Nothing more true than not to trust your senses;
And yet what are your other evidences?

For me, I know nought; nothing I deny,
Admit, reject, contemn; and what know you,

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poem by Byron
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Canto the Fourteenth

I
If from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,
Perhaps mankind might find the path they miss --
But then 't would spoil much good philosophy.
One system eats another up, and this
Much as old Saturn ate his progeny;
For when his pious consort gave him stones
In lieu of sons, of these he made no bones.

II
But System doth reverse the Titan's breakfast,
And eats her parents, albeit the digestion
Is difficult. Pray tell me, can you make fast,
After due search, your faith to any question?
Look back o'er ages, ere unto the stake fast
You bind yourself, and call some mode the best one.
Nothing more true than not to trust your senses;
And yet what are your other evidences?

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poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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