full time speck in tempest's power
Interese
Easy living and I'll be forgiven
Learning not only languages of men, but of bodies, of souls, of nature, of machines and above all of gods (the last one would be music to our mortal ears)
I forgot to mention the ethereal ambrosia of Habana and the celestial nectar of Scotland, so add the languages of self indulgence to the list
Life you did embitter me so much
one morning I'll leave out of touch
and in an airplane I will board
to look from up there at the world
When you're looking from high above
the earth is a painting, kind of
this earth you took much to heart of
this earth you took much to heart of
The houses look so much like matchboxes
the people look like ants that stroll
and the largest mansion there is
not larger than a childish ball
And all of them who did embitter you
if you do look from high enough
they will appear so indifferent
that recalling them will be tough
Oh my beloved one don't you cry
should you want we'll go up high
to look at this earth from the moon
it's just a moonlet or balloon
The towers look so much like dollhouses
and canons like toys do appear
from high enough you cannot tell
the adornments and the fancy gear
Whatever embittered or bewildered you
if you do look from high enough
it will appear pretty indifferent
that recalling it will be tough
Sotia Tsotou
About me
.-., ,.-.
'-. /:::\\ //:::\ .-'
'-.\|':':' `"` ':':'|/.-'
`-./`. .-=-. .-=-. .`\.-`
/=- / | \ -=\
; | | | ;
|=-.|______|______|.-=|
|== \ 0 /_\ 0 / ==|
|= /'---( )---'\ =|
\ \: .'. :/ /
`\= '--` `--' =/'
`-=._ _.=-'
I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours - can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, -
We will part, we will fly to - unite it again!
Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!
Forgive me, adored one! - forsake if thou wilt;
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,
And man shall not break it - whatever thou may'st.
And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
This soul in its bitterest blackness shall be;
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee at my side, than with worlds at our feet.
One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove.
And the heartless may wonder at all I resign -
Thy lips shall reply, not to them, but to mine.
Lord Byron
Limbi
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