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Showing posts from December, 2004

December Fireflies

Sometimes, somewhere,
I think there will be fireflies flying,
Shining their enigmatic light,
Illuminating the field,
and your grave.

Sometimes, here,
I wonder whether fireflies are real,
Whether they shine in joy or pain,
Whether they resemble our feelings,
Or maybe they are the dead souls of you
and in time, me.

Sometimes, then,
A long time ago beside the river,
The clear water reflected a dream,
One vision that would come true someday,
Then, that was the time we were young,
and full of dreams.

Sometimes, now,
I cry for you,
I dont have anyone to dream with,
I dont have you to guide me,
or walk along me, as we reach that dream,
Happy days are rare,
For there is one less star in the sky,
Another painfull memory in me,
This cold december night,
I remember of you,
and myself together.

- GpGhost Tags:

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?-
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,-
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

~Anthem for Doomed Youth ~Wilfred Owen 1893-1918~

...a great poem. There are no real winners in a war. The dead and alive share the same freedom. Freedom from this wretched existance for the dead, and freedom from killing others for the alive. Why do we fight for dirt when we have a whole world of it? Why do we fight for religion, when we cant hold it in our bare hands?…