Zmiana sposobu prezentacji
Oh, come here might Eagle,
to the beach at Normandy.
Come fly to Hades' music.
Come,
murder faithfully.
Oh, come here tiny kitten,
to Antietam's sepulchre.
Come dance on death's dominion.
Come,
cavort with carnivores.
Oh, come here little Cinderella,
to the Garden's of Persephone.
Come play in darkened Palestine.
Come,
shatter your naivete.
Oh, the twinge of helplessness
of pain tinged with relief.
Is nostalgia comfort?
Or just a comforting thief?
Where is the butterfly's solace from?
Well, the winged need no sleep.
Their joy and laughter overrule
the need for Slumber's Deep.
Silver sounds like singing bliss
and praises belted loud.
There is always a silver lining
if the Son is behind the cloud.
Even with metamorphosis of soul
don't pine for days gone by.
Would you rather be a caterpillar,
or a butterfly?
Fate bring nostalgia through paper,
while glancing through the sketches
of an old notebook ring,
for imagine the look of ambrosia
at the Finding of a forgotten Thing.
And the quirk of a smile that catches
the ring of the drones of Memory,
that fetches the string of those times.
The Crime of the past clings - forgiven,
and flies by the pace of the rhyme.
The pleasure, sublime on the stings
and etches the treachery,
cries Time, and - again
bringing new clarity,
- pure and unbearably-
of those Lost and Forgotten things.
What is this madness attraction?
This desire for the insane?
Longing for some naive unknowingness
Of wild Thoughts gone untamed.
A simple answer to the riddle,
is for motives, right and pure,
with no thought for the Blackness
the bearer must endure.
I think it would be possible for me to enjoy ToK. If it was a seperate class and I had time to read the book and we got a grade for it and the discussion were real discussions and nobody else complained and I have the will power to get through a chapter without wanting to violently stab a fork in my eye. I am sure it's possible. Everybody loves Theory of Knowledge, right?
Hidden glances filled their lives,
and fights fulfilled with throwing knives,
the dance of conquer before their eyes.
They lie in wait to overtake,
and strike the final blow
of victory, who will it be?
In a darkened alley just below.
He pounces to go for the kill,
but something stopped his blade.
He stayed his hand, and helped her stand
and the world began to fade.
His whole life had been spent on her.
Trying to kill and murder, not assure
himself that she was the enemy,
and while he hesitated she
tackled him to the ground,
a dagger to his throat, but when
she looked in his eyes, she found
nothing vile anymore, she took away
her scratched up blade, threw it at the wall.
And wondered how he saw her now
then let her teardrops fall.
His embrace was complete and sound.
(...)
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So I walked fifteen minutes in the pouring rain so that I could get to school an hour early to do some work that is due today. Guess who lost their papers? Me.
Just finished my IB Bio midterm. My brain chose the perfect time to forget how to analyze graphs. Oh well. At least I was capable of drawing out the phospholipid bylayer. :(((((((((
I just discovered just how IB my life has become. Somebody broke into my moms car and robbed it. In the process the thief threw my backpack into the snow. I was just mad because my IB Chem book got wet.
