When Tomorrow Starts Without Me By David Romano When tomorrow starts without meAnd I’m not here to seeIf the sun should rise and find your eyesAll filled with tears for meI wish you wouldn’t cryThe way you did todayWhile thinking of the many thingsWe did not get to sayI know how much you love meAs much…
A Coffin—is A Small Domain Poem by Emily Dickinson A Coffin—is a small Domain,Yet able to containA Citizen of ParadiseIn it diminished Plane.A Grave—is a restricted Breadth—Yet ampler than the Sun—And all the Seas He populatesAnd Lands He looks uponTo Him who on its small ReposeBestows a single Friend—Circumference without Relief—Or Estimate—or End—Emily Dickinson
Because I Could Not Stop For Death Poem by Emily Dickinson Because I could not stop for Death-He kindly stopped for me-The Carriage held but just Ourselves-And Immortality.We slowly drove- He knew no hasteAnd I had put awayMy labor and my leisure too,For His Civility-We passed the School, where Children stroveAt Recess- in the Ring-We…
I Want To Die Poem by Abdul Wahab Heavenly cursed and heavily sinned I No more i like to add them, so, I want to die And I want to become a holy ghost Whom the people would like the most. Like the retreating soldiers I like to come back To my own permanent and…
The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white garment of snow; and men deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth, while the north wind probed in contemplation of laying waste the gardens.
Heavenly cursed and heavily sinned I No more i like to add them, so, I want to die And I want to become a holy ghost Whom the people would like the most. Like the retreating soldiers I like to come back To my own permanent and eternal home You may call it a suicide or martyrdom.
In my real home I see the news Coming from the lipstick coated lips In the television of my molten death People are sobbing with a heavy breath. The atmosphere is heavy and they feel the pain This thrills me and gives a feeling of gain.
The only son of my father The only darling of my mother Fainted repeatedly on the cushion Peal like tear drops coming from my beloved son, Friends and relatives express grief in the community hall, All these excite me and I sought to say” I love you all.”
For the first time in my life in my last ritual I listen From those men that I was really a very very good man. In such intense atmosphere of gloom and sad My heart cheers and I become too much glad.
When Tomorrow Starts Without Me By David Romano When tomorrow starts without meAnd I’m not here to seeIf the sun should rise and find your eyesAll filled with tears for meI wish you wouldn’t cryThe way you did todayWhile thinking of the many thingsWe did not get to sayI know how much you love meAs much…
A Coffin—is A Small Domain Poem by Emily Dickinson A Coffin—is a small Domain,Yet able to containA Citizen of ParadiseIn it diminished Plane.A Grave—is a restricted Breadth—Yet ampler than the Sun—And all the Seas He populatesAnd Lands He looks uponTo Him who on its small ReposeBestows a single Friend—Circumference without Relief—Or Estimate—or End—Emily Dickinson
Because I Could Not Stop For Death Poem by Emily Dickinson Because I could not stop for Death-He kindly stopped for me-The Carriage held but just Ourselves-And Immortality.We slowly drove- He knew no hasteAnd I had put awayMy labor and my leisure too,For His Civility-We passed the School, where Children stroveAt Recess- in the Ring-We…
I Want To Die Poem by Abdul Wahab Heavenly cursed and heavily sinned I No more i like to add them, so, I want to die And I want to become a holy ghost Whom the people would like the most. Like the retreating soldiers I like to come back To my own permanent and…
The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white garment of snow; and men deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth, while the north wind probed in contemplation of laying waste the gardens.
A Poet’s Death Is His Life Iv Poem by Kahlil Gibran
The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white garment of snow; and men deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth, while the north wind probed in contemplation of laying waste the gardens. There in the suburb stood an old hut heavily laden with snow and on the verge of falling. In a dark recess of that hovel was a poor bed in which a dying youth was lying, staring at the dim light of his oil lamp, made to flicker by the entering winds. He a man in the spring of life who foresaw fully that the peaceful hour of freeing himself from the clutches of life was fast nearing. He was awaiting Death’s visit gratefully, and upon his pale face appeared the dawn of hope; and on his lops a sorrowful smile; and in his eyes forgiveness.
He was poet perishing from hunger in the city of living rich. He was placed in the earthly world to enliven the heart of man with his beautiful and profound sayings. He as noble soul, sent by the Goddess of Understanding to soothe and make gentle the human spirit. But alas! He gladly bade the cold earth farewell without receiving a smile from its strange occupants.
He was breathing his last and had no one at his bedside save the oil lamp, his only companion, and some parchments upon which he had inscribed his heart’s feeling. As he salvaged the remnants of his withering strength he lifted his hands heavenward; he moved his eyes hopelessly, as if wanting to penetrate the ceiling in order to see the stars from behind the veil clouds.
And he said, ‘Come, oh beautiful Death; my soul is longing for you. Come close to me and unfasten the irons life, for I am weary of dragging them. Come, oh sweet Death, and deliver me from my neighbors who looked upon me as a stranger because I interpret to them the language of the angels. Hurry, oh peaceful Death, and carry me from these multitudes who left me in the dark corner of oblivion because I do not bleed the weak as they do. Come, oh gentle Death, and enfold me under your white wings, for my fellowmen are not in want of me. Embrace me, oh Death, full of love and mercy; let your lips touch my lips which never tasted a mother’s kiss, not touched a sister’s cheeks, not caresses a sweetheart’s fingertips. Come and take me, by beloved Death.’
Then, at the bedside of the dying poet appeared an angel who possessed a supernatural and divine beauty, holding in her hand a wreath of lilies. She embraced him and closed his eyes so he could see no more, except with the eye of his spirit. She impressed a deep and long and gently withdrawn kiss that left and eternal smile of fulfillment upon his lips. Then the hovel became empty and nothing was lest save parchments and papers which the poet had strewn with bitter futility.
Hundreds of years later, when the people of the city arose from the diseases slumber of ignorance and saw the dawn of knowledge, they erected a monument in the most beautiful garden of the city and celebrated a feast every year in honor of that poet, whose writings had freed them. Oh, how cruel is man’s ignorance!
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