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posted by djsheshe
Without

I'd never felt so dead before
So cold, so pained, unbearably sore
I never thought I'd hurt like this
Without আপনি here, your murderous kiss

Without your hand to envelope mine
Without your voice, deep, divine
Without your dark, concealing eyes
Without your words, your venemous lies

I'd never thought of myself this way
So alone, every night, every ending day
I always saw my reflection পরবর্তি to yours
But I'm in darkness, behind closed doors

Without your speech, always mysterious
Without your smile, making me delirious
I thought you'd stay forever, you'd care
But now all I remember is your hateful stare
দ্বারা Nicole Levy
Chronicle

The lyrical stylings of nationally acclaimed poet Kevin Brian Wright of Glendale have romanced even British কুইন Elizabeth II herself. The poem Wright composed for the কুইন in 2008, entitled “O’ Blessed Nightingale,” is today displayed as a personal keepsake of her majesty in Balmoral Castle. পাঠ করা the lyric, I imagined that Elizabeth had cast her regal person as that blessed nightingale for whom “the thunder…trembles, / When she beat her majestic wings in flight / Composing that choral symphony that softly serenades / The tranquil night, with that melodious...
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added by Lovetreehill
added by Lovetreehill
added by Lovetreehill
Votive Offering in the Spanish Style

I want to build for you, Madonna, my mistress,
An underground altar in the depths of my grief
And carve out in the darkest corner of my heart,
Far from worldly desires and mocking looks,
A niche, all enameled with azure and with gold,
Where আপনি shall stand, amazed Statue,
With my polished Verses as a trellis of pure metal
Studded cunningly with rhymes of crystal,
I shall make for your head an immense Crown,
And from my Jealousy, O mortal Madonna,
I shall know how to cut a ছদ্মবেশ in a fashion,
Barbaric, heavy, and stiff, lined with suspicion,
Which, like a sentry-box,...
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added by Lovetreehill
They say to me, your eyes, clear as crystal:
"For you, bizarre lover, what is my merit then ?"
— Be charming and be still! My heart, which all things irk,
Except the candor of the জন্তু জানোয়ার of old,

Does not wish to reveal its black secret to you,
Whose lulling hands invite me to long sleep,
Nor its somber legend written with flame.
I hate passion; intelligence makes me suffer !

Let us প্রণয় each other sweetly. Tenebrous Love,
Ambushed in his shelter, stretches his fatal bow.
I know all the weapons of his old arsenal :

Crime, horror, and madness! — pale marguerite !
Are আপনি not, like me, an autumnal sun,...
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added by moodystuff449
Source: i wrote it.....
added by moodystuff449
Source: I wrote this....Hope আপনি like it!
added by stickymonkey
Source: photobucket
One time, once only, sweet, amiable woman,
On my arm your smooth arm
Rested (on the tenebrous background of my soul
That memory is not faded);

It was late; like a newly struck medal
The full moon spread its rays,
And the solemnity of the night streamed
Like a river over sleeping Paris.

And along the houses, under the porte-cocheres,
Cats passed দ্বারা furtively,
With ears pricked up, অথবা else, like beloved shades,
Slowly escorted us.

Suddenly, in the midst of that frank intimacy
Born in the pale moonlight,
From you, sonorous, rich instrument which vibrates
Only with radiant gaiety,

From you, clear and joyful as...
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LENORE

Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the ঘণ্টা toll ! a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river,
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear ? Weep now অথবা nevermore!
See! on yon drear and rigid শবাধার low lies thy love, Lenore !
Come ! let the burial rite be read- the funeral song be sung !
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.

"Wretches ! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her- that she died!
How shall the ritual, then, be read ? The...
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added by stickymonkey
Source: photobucket
I would, to রচনা my eclogues chastely,
Lie down close to the sky like an astrologer,
And, near the church towers, listen while I dream
To their solemn anthems borne to me দ্বারা the wind.
My chin cupped in both hands, high up in my garret
I shall see the workshops where they chatter and sing,
The chimneys, the belfries, those masts of the city,
And the skies that make one dream of eternity.

It is sweet, through the mist, to see the stars
Appear in the heavens, the lamps in the windows,
The streams of smoke rise in the firmament
And the moon spread out her pale enchantment.
I shall see the springtimes, the...
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added by Lovetreehill
added by breebree446
added by kevinbwright
added by Lovetreehill
Source: artslink.files.wordpress.com
added by Lovetreehill
Source: www.kyrene.k12.az.us
added by Lovetreehill
Source: /wakecounty.files.wordpress.com