Poetry
-
“Death Is Nothing At All”
by Henry Scott Holland
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again! -
Alone
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
-
Don't Let Her Down
A poem by J. Raymond
-
Great insight on Energy
Thanks Crystal for pointing me to this nugget.
-
I want to show you something
This is my heart. Here, you can hold it while I explain. Just…be gentle, OK?
-
I'm so sorry to wake you up
This beautiful poem was shared with me this morning by my dear friend Gina. Even in the first few paragraphs it hit me deep and I cried.
We travel through our lives each of us on our own path. As they say, "not all of those paths were paved". For some it seems few of them were. May this sooth your bumps and bruises as it did mine.
-
Sometimes a Wild God
Sometimes a Wild God
-
The Celebration Of Your Life
A poem by Jodi L. Daly
-
They always have something to say.
A poem by Becky Hemsley
-
Tread Softly on my Dreams
So I was doing some backups and file cleanups and found this poem saved...
HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
W.B. Yeats