Exploring my wonderful imagination While I sat peacefully in meditation As I searched nature for a truth I found the fountain of youth Which was hidden away from rational man As I sat, I devised a master plan To always remember the importance of childhood So that I am never misunderstood So I sat drinking my moet I became a romantic poet
a syren sang to me a syren sang to thee in the garden of Gethsemane a place that we both shared evil nor hardship ventured there crowned with white roses a soft scent before our noses blind to a world we where yet to see a syren sang to me a syren sang to thee
The Romantics was a time of great ideas, They believed that the world was completely clear. Romantics despised the concept of science, It shouldn’t have had such a good appliance. The use of nature around them was vital, Trees, shrubs and animals were not trifled. The life of a Romantic was extremely satisfying, They found all simple things very gratifying.
The use of poetic themes and techniques, Was one that was very unique. The poems were quite extraordinary, It made the people who read them, Fairies. The scenes they made out were very descriptive, It seemed as if they were nonrestrictive.
Many may think they were addicted to opium, But it only opened their minds to a state of utopian. Their lives were lived out like an olden day Bogan, Best known for their thoughts, and technical slogans.
Dry and dead leaves lie on their backs, The trees are hollow and ivory black. Shattered on the ground they lie, On top of each other by and by.
The skies gloomy, white and dull, Nothing above nevertheless a sea gull. Though the veil of roots and the shades and blades of grass, Hide them vulnerable insects last.
Sticks and logs amid the crowd, Painting the bare ground- well endowed. Innocent brilliance and untouched perfection, A calm connection.
Through nature I see, The beautiful land complete Stunning by day, Glamorous by night, Revealing the truth behind us all, Bringing peace by mountains tall, Even one so little, can surprise everyone By the love they provide. The people who solve problems with guns, Ruin the natural goodness inside them, By pain, suffering and torture, Nature’s beauty will guide everyone, Who wishes to be lead by it.
A dim and weary morning, desolation fills the air, In the ghostly darkness a child says her prayer, Across a noiseless meadow church bells begin to sound, And on this fateful morning she lies still upon the ground,
Her spirit rises slowly breaking through the clouds, Her suddenly vibrant eyes look down to see the crowds, She begins to wildly laugh as she flies above a hilltop, A laugh so happily innocent it makes your heart stop,
She steadily continues towards a shining light, The life she had been living, fading out of sight, Gazing upon a world that she’s always known, Now she is silent, afraid and alone,
The memories of her past slowly begin to fade, And now a humbling picture, gently starts to invade, Her eyes begin to close as she reaches a golden door, She clasps her hands, for what lies ahead she is unsure,
She steps inside the door anxious and afraid, Right into that meadow where her funeral is displayed, She looked right at her mother unsure of what to say, And then she just smiled and her fears went way,
The rain began to pour and the wind began to blow, The rumbling of thunder and the beginning of the snow, Alone in that meadow stood just one lonely soul, Watching her body, lowered into a hole.
Through pleasant tune thee came And thrived in this game Through song and dace thou played your wisest wonder rained Until thee were bought low Through greed and earn and show Where have thou gone Come and guide us home Through pit and pride we chased For your long embrace Now we seek that pleasant tune for still our lives close noon
as pure as a baby lamb.... so is the softness of what can your hair thine your beauty fine you know no wrong but it won't last for long nothing else like your mind your heart is pure and mine the innocence of a child those being forever young and wild
It is so pure,
ReplyDeletethat one could not obscure,
It's long lasting laughter,
to be lost soon after,
It is so spontaneous,
acting on the miscellaneous,
and it's imagination,
is greater than generation's,
So before it turns wild,
We should learn from the child.
Exploring my wonderful imagination
ReplyDeleteWhile I sat peacefully in meditation
As I searched nature for a truth
I found the fountain of youth
Which was hidden away from rational man
As I sat, I devised a master plan
To always remember the importance of childhood
So that I am never misunderstood
So I sat drinking my moet
I became a romantic poet
a syren sang to me
ReplyDeletea syren sang to thee
in the garden of Gethsemane
a place that we both shared
evil nor hardship ventured there
crowned with white roses
a soft scent before our noses
blind to a world we where yet to see
a syren sang to me
a syren sang to thee
The Romantics was a time of great ideas,
ReplyDeleteThey believed that the world was completely clear.
Romantics despised the concept of science,
It shouldn’t have had such a good appliance.
The use of nature around them was vital,
Trees, shrubs and animals were not trifled.
The life of a Romantic was extremely satisfying,
They found all simple things very gratifying.
The use of poetic themes and techniques,
Was one that was very unique.
The poems were quite extraordinary,
It made the people who read them, Fairies.
The scenes they made out were very descriptive,
It seemed as if they were nonrestrictive.
Many may think they were addicted to opium,
But it only opened their minds to a state of utopian.
Their lives were lived out like an olden day Bogan,
Best known for their thoughts, and technical slogans.
Autumn
ReplyDeleteDry and dead leaves lie on their backs,
The trees are hollow and ivory black.
Shattered on the ground they lie,
On top of each other by and by.
The skies gloomy, white and dull,
Nothing above nevertheless a sea gull.
Though the veil of roots and the shades and blades of grass,
Hide them vulnerable insects last.
Sticks and logs amid the crowd,
Painting the bare ground- well endowed.
Innocent brilliance and untouched perfection,
A calm connection.
The Innocent Gone
ReplyDeleteWho has ever wept more?
Then one who has lost the one she bore.
So young, so innocent, then a mother,
Who had but began her journey with her lover.
For the young she bore,
To the tears she forelorned.
A child has born,
And a soul was torn.
Who is more innocent to fall?
Than children that the women called.
William Shakehicks
ReplyDeleteThrough nature I see,
The beautiful land complete
Stunning by day,
Glamorous by night,
Revealing the truth behind us all,
Bringing peace by mountains tall,
Even one so little, can surprise everyone
By the love they provide.
The people who solve problems with guns,
Ruin the natural goodness inside them,
By pain, suffering and torture,
Nature’s beauty will guide everyone,
Who wishes to be lead by it.
A dim and weary morning, desolation fills the air,
ReplyDeleteIn the ghostly darkness a child says her prayer,
Across a noiseless meadow church bells begin to sound,
And on this fateful morning she lies still upon the ground,
Her spirit rises slowly breaking through the clouds,
Her suddenly vibrant eyes look down to see the crowds,
She begins to wildly laugh as she flies above a hilltop,
A laugh so happily innocent it makes your heart stop,
She steadily continues towards a shining light,
The life she had been living, fading out of sight,
Gazing upon a world that she’s always known,
Now she is silent, afraid and alone,
The memories of her past slowly begin to fade,
And now a humbling picture, gently starts to invade,
Her eyes begin to close as she reaches a golden door,
She clasps her hands, for what lies ahead she is unsure,
She steps inside the door anxious and afraid,
Right into that meadow where her funeral is displayed,
She looked right at her mother unsure of what to say,
And then she just smiled and her fears went way,
The rain began to pour and the wind began to blow,
The rumbling of thunder and the beginning of the snow,
Alone in that meadow stood just one lonely soul,
Watching her body, lowered into a hole.
ReplyDeleteThrough pleasant tune thee came
And thrived in this game
Through song and dace thou played
your wisest wonder rained
Until thee were bought low
Through greed and earn and show
Where have thou gone
Come and guide us home
Through pit and pride we chased
For your long embrace
Now we seek that pleasant tune
for still our lives close noon
as pure as a baby lamb....
ReplyDeleteso is the softness of what can
your hair thine
your beauty fine
you know no wrong but
it won't last for long
nothing else like your mind
your heart is pure and mine
the innocence of a child
those being forever young and wild