Should I listen
When I hear
Words that go unsaid?
Should I listen,
When I hear
The voices in my head?

Thought provoking
Underlying
Doubts that cloud my mind.
Desires thwarted
Somehow shorted
A losing sense of time.

It was the bliss
Of just one kiss
That made her so enraptured.
And teary nights
She sits and writes
Of how her heart was captured.

Too far to hold
Too dear to lose
A feeling strong but distant.
Should I forget
Before regret
And die within that instant?

Whispering
my name at times
Whispering "forget him"
Whispering
Soft insanities,
That surely would upset him.

Should I listen
When I hear
Words that go unsaid?
Should I listen
When I hear
The voices in my head?

When we two parted

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this!

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow;
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me -
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met:
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee? -
With silence and tears.


Lord Byron

I will forget you.

All the time we spent together
All the time we laughed
All the time we cried in anguish
Has passed.

The Prophet

Parched with the spirit's thirst, I crossed
An endless desert sunk in gloom,
And a six-winged seraph came
Where the tracks met and I stood lost.
Fingers light as dream he laid
Upon my lids; I opened wide
My eagle eyes, and gazed around.
He laid his fingers on my ears
And they were filled with roaring sound:
I heard the music of the spheres,
The flight of angels through the skies,
The beasts that crept beneath the sea,
The heady uprush of the vine;
And, like a lover kissing me,
He rooted out this tongue of mine
Fluent in lies and vanity;
He tore my fainting lips apart
And, with his right hand steeped in blood,
He armed me with a serpent's dart;
With his bright sword he split my breast;
My heart leapt to him with a bound;
A glowing livid coal he pressed
Into the hollow of the wound.
There in the desert I lay dead,
And God called out to me and said:
'Rise, prophet, rise, and hear, and see,
And let my works be seen and heard
By all who turn aside from me,
And burn them with my fiery word.'



Pushkin