Poetry

[Godot]

I had a question reguarding where peotry belongs...

Answer!

Here

I

I

I

V

[Code: PIRULUK]

Vulpix is red,

Marill is blue,

Whimsicott killed Salamance,

We'll kill you too <3

[Godot]

Roses are Red

Violets are Blue

And if you were a Pokemon

I would choose You!

Ok... in all srs faic nao

Poetry thread! Go!

[Code: PIRULUK]

Dover Beach - Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Edited October 6, 2013 by Acquiescence

[Brockze]

A poem I wrote, called Spring:

It becomes that time of year again

For change, and homely inspections;

When trees shed their winter coat

And begin their annual resurrection.

Yet this is not a tale of beauty,

Or one filled with rhyme;

This is a poem of loss.

Of looking back and remembering

The ones we let go of.

The old partners.

The old friends.

The late friends.

The late family.

It is another year, but we still hurt.

And every time we lose another,

The greenery of spring becomes a little less...green.

(Sorry about the out-of-season post)

[Amethyst]

In direct contrast to the above:

Autumn surely must be the season most loveliest,
For in it is sorrow, pleasing, though ugliest,
As descension, death and decay- all despite,
We linger,
here
now
you
i
Still very alive