Posted in Poetry

by Frantisek Halas

Touched by all that love is
I draw closer toward you
Saddened by all that love is
I run from you

Surprised by all that love is
I remain alert in stillness
Hurt by all that love is
I yearn for tenderness

Defeated by all that love is
at the truthful mouth of the night
Forsaken by all that love is
I will grow toward you.


And Death Shall Have No Dominion
by Dylan Thomas

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan’t crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.


A Poison Tree
by William Blake

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I water’d it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with my smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil’d the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch’d beneath the tree



Posted in Poetry

by Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.


The holidays are an important time as they allow us to take a breather from the daily grind (not the aromatic kind) and they also mark a period of celebration, a ritualizing of routine in paying respects to our gods and idols. [..]


Why does anything exist? Does it share an interdependent co-existence with everything else and therefore is interconnected to each and every other entity in the universe? Or does it thrive in isolation, existing for the sake of existence: sans interdependence, sans meaning, and sans purpose. If a blog had no readers, a performer without an audience, and beauty without eyes to behold, would they truly be that which they are without the complement that helps them to define what they strive to be? Can we know what love is if we’ve never known hate? Can we feel pleasure if we’ve never felt pain? Can we recognize the absence of light if we’ve never stumbled amidst darkness? Seemingly, these dualities are interdependent and they interact to maintain a state of equilibrium, a cyclic regeneration of diametrically opposing and harmoniously coalescing forces. Thus, a blog shares an intimate connection with its reader via vicarious means and if it was used exclusively as a private journal then the relationship would be direct with its creator. Its purpose is defined by the intent of its creator and its meaning is derived from the experience of its existence. It exists for the reader and the reader exists for it.


Ordained Mercilessness
by Kyjin

I have been cursed with the power of sight
I dare not open my eyes to a world filled with fright
My innocence lost in the stream of time
Evil has shown to me its bloody crime




Posted in ki.Poetry

by Kyjin

Happiness is a creature that burns within me
Claws full of fury and eyes guided toward its goal
Rattling the prison that ensnares contentment
Happiness is the bane of my existence



The Porcelain Youth
by Kyjin

We are in a state of volatility
The earth forcefully ruptures from beneath
and the sky hangs flimsily on a glimmer of hope
The sun rises with hesitation and
falls quickly against a blanket of darkness

Within the high towers
I hear the murmuring of their cowardice
and within its ivory walls
the whisperings of their treachery

A corrosive poison
that chars black, the heart of man

On the ground
I hear the dirge of a soldier
pleading for mercy
in a field lay scattered
his slain comrades


Don’t take flight on the eagle’s wings
and prey on the unsuspecting youth
Steer him back to the arms of safety
and let him return to the refuge of his nest

Don’t send us to the hunting grounds
to be hung as headless trophies
by poachers and murderers

Don’t let the taxidermists
strip us of our humanity
and expose us to adult pastimes
that our innocence will unknowingly embrace

Don’t rape us of our freedom
that in silence we will resentfully consent
You may muffle our cries of agony
and while our bodies may submit
our minds will remain faithful to the pain

Stand on your podium
indulge our ears
with the nectar of your words
Then return
to the comfort of your home,
family, wife, and kids

But I will remain here, miles from home,
away from love, away from life
A ghost in a land of strangers
resting against the blood-soaked soil
waking to cries of shattered men, women, and children

I am no hero, I am no enemy
I am the porcelain youth
My skin,
tender, easily cut
My life,
fragile, easily broken

Yet I am loved,
and demonized

My mission is to slay an enemy
whom I do not fully understand
And still I see my weapon stained
with the blood of the blameless

I seek to justify my sins
and wash from my hands
the evidence of my deeds;
but my mind remains
diluted in this crimson river,
plaguing my waking life
and haunting my very existence

You ask me to be brave
and send me off with admiration
You ask me to be strong
and gave me means to protect myself

But you did not ask me
if I was willing to kill,
because he does not share an ideal
that you hold to be righteous
if I was willing to lay waste,
a land and its people,
because they do not believe
what you hold to be self-evident

The truth is,
I will not fight under a fever of destruction
and plunge our world into ruination

Perhaps it is best that I do not raise arms
at all,
against my fellow man,
who are also born of flesh and blood
who will recoil when he is shot
and bleed when his skin is broken

I am no hero, he is not my enemy
We are the porcelain youth,
Our skin,
Tender and scarred
Our lives,
Fragile and broken

Is glory worth
The fate of my brothers and sisters
sealed in a body bag?
Or worse…
Blown unrecognizably apart
only to be carried home by the winds?

How many countless lives
must prematurely sink into the dirt?
and how many more
will be shamelessly smothered in shallow graves
As we dig for this fool’s gold?


And I will say to this woeful soldier
fear not for the porcelain youth
your laments are carried by the winds of change
Our fathers know not what they do
in the games that they play with our lives

If today,
in fear,
we live, fight, and kill
in fear,
we will die

These fears are only the puppetry of shadows
casting a darker shade of ourselves
wrestling with our own inner demons
and projecting its image into our reality

Fear not lamenting youth
for you are not alone
in your depths of loneliness and despair;
in the prison of your conscience
and the slaughter-house of innocence

I will stand with you through the darkness of our times
when you find yourself fragmented
I will gather your pieces and rebuild your hope

Together we will carry this beacon of light
and shine its truth of love and peace
into man’s shadowy heart

For he cannot be changed
with blunts or bullets,
beaten or deranged
as this can only scar his flesh
while his conviction grows ever stronger

Speak to him in his heart
and in time he will see for himself
the error of his ways
Only then will you have turned him as the enemy,
and will have also made him
a friend

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