IRC-Galleria

In silence the heart raves. It utters words
Meaningless, that never had
A meaning. I was ten, skinny, red-headed,

Freckled. In a big black Buick,
Driven by a big grown boy, with a necktie, she sat
In front of the drugstore, sipping something

Through a straw. There is nothing like
Beauty. It stops your heart. It
Thickens your blood. It stops your breath. It

Makes you feel dirty. You need a hot bath.
I leaned against a telephone pole, and watched.
I thought I would die if she saw me.

How could I exist in the same world with that brightness?
Two years later she smiled at me. She
Named my name. I thought I would wake up dead.

Her grown brothers walked with the bent-knee
Swagger of horsemen. They were slick-faced.
Told jokes in the barbershop. Did no work.

Their father was what is called a drunkard.
Whatever he was he stayed on the third floor
Of the big white farmhouse under the maples for twenty-five years.

He never came down. They brought everything up to him.
I did not know what a mortgage was.
His wife was a good, Christian woman, and prayed.

When the daughter got married, the old man came down wearing
An old tail coat, the pleated shirt yellowing.
The sons propped him. I saw the wedding. There were

Engraved invitations, it was so fashionable. I thought
I would cry. I lay in bed that night
And wondered if she would cry when something was done to her.

The mortgage was foreclosed. That last word was whispered.
She never came back. The family
Sort of drifted off. Nobody wears shiny boots like that now.

But I know she is beautiful forever, and lives
In a beautiful house, far away.
She called my name once. I didn't even know she knew it.

Room after room,
I hunt the house through
We inhabit together.
Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her,
Next time, herself!—not the trouble behind her
Left in the curtain, the couch's perfume!
As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew,—
Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather.

Yet the day wears,
And door succeeds door;
I try the fresh fortune—
Range the wide house from the wing to the centre.
Still the same chance! she goes out as I enter.
Spend my whole day in the quest,—who cares?
But 'tis twilight, you see,—with such suites to explore,
Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune!

We cannot live, except thus mutually
We alternate, aware or unaware,
The reflex act of life: and when we bear
Our virtue onward most impulsively,
Most full of invocation, and to be
Most instantly compellant, certes, there
We live most life, whoever breathes most air
And counts his dying years by sun and sea.
But when a soul, by choice and conscience, doth
Throw out her full force on another soul,
The conscience and the concentration both make
mere life, Love. For Life in perfect whole
And aim consummated, is Love in sooth,
As nature's magnet-heat rounds pole with pole.

Käykääpä tossa linkissa ->http://wrletter.act4trees.com

Flies with a broken wing, she's ever so graceful, so like an angel,
but I see, tears flow quietly.

The struggle she's seen this spring, when nothing comes dancing,
paying a handsome fee, and still she smiles at me.

And I can't take it, no I can't help but wonder...

Why do we sacrifice the beautiful ones?
How do you break a heart of gold?
Why do we sacrifice our beautiful souls?
Heroes of tales unsung, untold.

Sweet as an angel sings, she gives though she has none left but the last one, free, unhesitatingly.

And I am humbled, I'm a broken mirror, and I can't help but wonder...

Why do we sacrifice the beautiful ones?
How do you break a heart of gold?
Why do we sacrifice our beautiful souls?
Heroes of tales unsung, untold.

Why do we sacrifice the beautiful ones?
Why when they walk with love alone?
Why do we sacrifice our beautiful souls?
Just trying to find their way home.

Sori.
Oikeesti pahoillani kaikest
anteeks et tajusin vast täs vaihees.
Pakko päästä purkaa sydntä täst aiheest
oon pahoillani täst kaikest.
sori.



Sori muuntelu:P

Huomenna helsinkiin esittelemään irokeesiä hesalaisille viikonlopuks:D

I'm sorry dudes, but i will come to be last mohican. You can see it to my hear style..

Tunge positiivinen ajattelu hanuriisi
kierrän kriisiryhmänne kaukaa
älä tyrkytä minulle terapiaa
kaada lisää paskaa mun niskaan
mua vituttaa niin ankarasti
aamusta iltaan
vituttaa, on kaikki turhaa
vittu kun vituttaa

Älä loihe mulle lausumaan
kauniita sanoja
älä saatana tule antamaan
mitään vitun tukea

Nyt vaa vituttaa, ei vois paljoa muuta sanoa.. Mut sentäs oon saanu kutsun taidon sm-kisoihin:D pitäis harjotella hokeita kisoihin, mut mites harjottelee ku harkoissa ei vaa harjotella.. ja sit ku tekee yksin nii ei siitä tuu mitää, ku tekee kaikki virheetki..