Sweetest love, I do not go,
For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me;
But since that I
Must die at last, 'tis best
To use myself in jest
Thus by feign'd deaths to die.
Yesternight the sun went hence,
......
There are in life such hard blows . . . I don't know!
Blows seemingly from God's wrath; as if before them
the undertow of all our sufferings
is embedded in our souls . . . I don't know!
There are few; but are . . . opening dark furrows
in the fiercest of faces and the strongest of loins,
They are perhaps the colts of barbaric Attilas
or the dark heralds Death sends us.
They are the deep falls of the Christ of the soul,
......
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!
Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.
In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
......
Down in the valley come meet me to-night,
And I'll tell you your fortune truly
As ever 'twas told, by the new-moon's light,
To a young maiden, shining as newly.
But, for the world, let no one be nigh,
Lest haply the stars should deceive me,
Such secrets between you and me and the sky
Should never go farther, believe me.
......
Soldiers are citizens of death's gray land,
Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows.
In the great hour of destiny they stand,
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.
Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win
Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin
They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.
I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,
......
If I had a chance to be an author for my own destiny
I don't have to try so hard for chasing the light of hope
I don't have to hide my sorrow and distress in silence
I don't have to worry about facing the countless challenges
I don't have to question about my worth on someone's priority
......
The past is a lesson, not a prison,
The past is a mentor, not a captor.
The past is a tale, not a jail,
The past is a page, not a cage.
The past is a foundation, not a stagnation,
The past is a phase, not a maze.
The past is a guide, not a slide,
......
Arising with a flicker of hope
Desperate attempts at perfection
Failing, falling deeper with each leap
Only to fade into oblivion
Seeking futile validation, for the sense of dignity
Replacing dream with duty, for the prize of power
Bittersweet memories forging the journey
Is there a purpose, I ponder
......
But I have a Choice – and forgive me t ' be straight
Life is so – and I don’ need to pace
my whole days – bearing a grunge
on Her Beauty’s Face.
I cannot stay a baby if I'm to set you free.
For I have to climb the steep hill called Calvary.
I need to leave the manger to become a man,
and follow the path that completes Salvations plan.
Although you've just celebrated my nativity,
another thirty years have been given to me.
There are people to heal and I've so much to say
to spread the Good news and walk the heavenly way.
......