TAKE A LOOKLOOK INTO MY SOUL
TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE
A WOMAN SMOOTHLY LEANING
ON THE SHOULDERS OF THIN AIR
FACING THE ISLE THAT LEADS TO AN IMAGINARY "YOU"
FOR YOU REALLY DON'T EXIST, NOT THE YOU, I THOUGHT, YOU WERE
RUNNING TAKES ME NOWHERE
WHILE LOVE CUTS SHORT ALL DISTANCES
AND PUTS ME INSIDE WHAT IS TO BE
OUR OWN LAND OF DREAMS.
THE SILENT EXPRESSION OF EMOTIONS
TAKES ME DOWN THE LAKE OF STARS
WHERE THE BELIEF OF BEAUTY ARISES
WHENEVER I THINK OF YOU
THE GREAT MOUNTAIN OF GLORY
KNEELS BEFORE YOU
WHILE THE SILVER SIGHT
OF YOUR CROCODILE TEARS
HOLD ALL THE ANSWERS
TO WHAT LOVE REALLY MEANS TO YOU
THE DIFFERENCE OF OUR HEARTS
GESTURE THE HORIZON OF WHAT WE KNOW
AS THE DEEP OCEAN WITHIN A SOUL
AND THE GREAT POWER
OF LONGING LOVING STARS
IN A SHORT DAYTIME OF OUR LONG LIVING LIVES.
UNKNOWN AUTHOR Posted on: October 28, 2006, 06:44:27 PM
Life's Two-faced From the canyons of the city,
To the mountains of your mind,
Your soul lies dreaming,
Innocently sublime.
With a ripping and a tearing
And a teeth shrieking whine,
You're born into reality,
A nightmare divine.
Society's little demons scream
"He's mine, all mine!"
But you smile and walk away
Cause it's just another line
Whispered down dusty trails
In the corridor's of time.
unknown author**********************************************************
Two-faced time The infinite of space and time
How much of it is mine?
Can i say love lasts forever
When all the flames come from Haven
As one's love can be
Just like the leaves of a tree
They will fall
And next time fewer will grow
When the sky will break
The earth will shake
All Stars will die
And the waters will cry.
Everything is nothing
Can't we something
As life is sad
So we are dead.
What is written for us
To suffer until we turn to dust
That can not be
For what is this beauty around me.
When was the last time you watched the sky
When did you last say 'Don't cry...'.
Life is not a stereotype
If only you would raise your sword and fight.
If not now then never
Hope is lost forever
Only the brave can forgive
In this world of make-believe.
Everything is lost in time
One day the sun will forget to shine...
author unknown**********************************************************
Hypocrite in BattleHypocrite in battle,
Do your thoughts match your heart?
To think you say you love her..*sighs*
You crave it more than any.
You're a champion in the field.
I see your eyes light up when you see me
You'd kill to have it your way.
The games you play with head and heart
do not match the person I see.
Hypocrite, you stand above them all.
Why cant you see you are better?
To think you say you are in love
You envy it more than you show.
Why not do what you say?
Act what you feel?
Laugh, cry, sing, scream, love
Show me something real.
Show them something real.
unknown authorPosted on: October 28, 2006, 08:13:20 PM
I know you from beforeI know you think I don't know
who you are or why you're here
I think you are wrong
I know you
I know that smile
that is sometimes real and sometimes fake
I know those eyes
so blue as the sky
they were not always that color though
when you and I met then
I know you
I know you think I don't know
who you are and why you're here
but you are wrong
I know who you are
I know that yesterday was more real than today
I know that after the sun comes the rain
I know you also know me
and now you know I know
who you are and why you're here
I know you are only here
because of me.
unknown author Posted on: October 28, 2006, 08:25:44 PM
Man in the Poem 1 The man in the poem practices his art
Balancing on the edge of hell.
He muses with a bottle of flaming angels
Who rouse and persuade him to plant
His words in the soil of eternity.
His imagination is a balloon
That carries him over the jagged mountains
Of love, hate, and piety.
His heart is a mother carrying an infant
And a prayer.
His mind is a father sobered by the wisdom
Of a child's despair.
His voice plays the air.
He makes me wish I
Were in the poem with him.
He makes me love, fear,
Loathe, and want him.
He paints mountains, parts tears,
Sketches stars. He burns and freezes,
Trembles and stands stone still
On the rim of torment.
The man in the poem is chained
But freer than the idea of freedom.
I have seen him walking
With a letter in his hand.
I wrote that letter to the man in the poem.
If he answers, I will know
I have touched a god.
Unknown author**************************************************************
A woman's beautyIt's not something you can see
You just have to feel it
And that's how it's suppose to be
If a woman has a beauty
But doesn't have a sweet heart
No matter how hard you try to see
It will be like looking through the dark
Nothing else will matter
As long as it comes from inside
What's the point of a beauty
If it only comes from outside
Have you seen a sweet woman
Who thinks with her mind
One word out of her mouth
She'll pour tears out of your eyes
Even if she doesn't have the best look
Her good manner drives you insane
She'll make you forget everything
Once you get to know her well
unknown author**************************************************************
Love What's wrong with you, with us,
what's happening to us?
Ah our love is a harsh cord
that binds us wounding us
and if we want
to leave our wound,
to separate,
it makes a new knot for us and condemns us
to drain our blood and burn together.
What's wrong with you? I look at you
and I find nothing in you but two eyes
like all eyes, a mouth
lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful,
a body just like those that have slipped
beneath my body without leaving any memory.
And how empty you went through the world
like a wheat-colored jar
without air, without sound, without substance!
I vainly sought in you
depth for my arms
that dig, without cease, beneath the earth:
beneath your skin, beneath your eyes,
nothing,
beneath your double breast scarcely
raised
a current of crystalline order
that does not know why it flows singing.
Why, why, why,
my love, why?
Pablo Neruda **************************************************************
In My Sky At Twilight In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.
The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!
You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.
You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.
Pablo Neruda **************************************************************
Fabula de la Sirena y los borrachosTodos estos señores estaban dentro
cuando ella entró completamente desnuda
ellos habían bebido y comenzaron a escupirla
ella no entendía nada recién salía del rio
era una sirena que se había extraviado
los insultos corrían sobre su carne lisa
la inmundicia cubrió sus pechos de oro
ella no sabía llorar por eso no lloraba
no sabía vestirse por eso no se vestía
la tatuaron con cigarrillos y con corchos quemados
y reían hasta caer al suelo de la taberna
ella no hablaba porque no sabía hablar
sus ojos eran color de amor distante
sus brazos construídos de topacios gemelos
sus labios se cortaron en la luz del coral
y de pronto salió por esa puerta
apenas entro al rio quedó limpia
relució como una piedra blanca en la lluvia
y sin mirar atrás nadó de nuevo
nadó hacia nunca más hacia morir.
Pablo NerudaMy God, how sad!
, I have read this fable a zillion times, and everytime I read it (in Spanish), my soul weeps......how very sad!
English TranslationFable of the Mermaid and the Drunks All those men were there inside,
when she came in totally naked.
They had been drinking: they began to spit.
Newly come from the river, she knew nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh.
Obscenities drowned her golden breasts.
Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears.
Not knowing clothes, she did not have clothes.
They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs,
and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor.
She did not speak because she had no speech.
Her eyes were the colour of distant love,
her twin arms were made of white topaz.
Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light,
and suddenly she went out by that door.
Entering the river she was cleaned,
shining like a white stone in the rain,
and without looking back she swam again
swam towards emptiness, swam towards death.
Pablo Neruda It doesn't have the same feeling when it is told in English. Bummer! I wish everyone could "feel" what this fable is able to transmit ..
Posted on: October 29, 2006, 10:56:10 AM
'T Was Just This Time Last Year I Died'T was just this time last year I died.
I know I heard the corn,
When I was carried by the farms,
It had the tassels on.
I thought how yellow it would look
When Richard went to mill;
And then I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.
I thought just how red apples wedged
The stubble's joints between;
And carts went stooping round the fields
To take the pumpkins in.
I wondered which would miss me least,
And when Thanksgiving came,
If father'd multiply the plates
To make an even sum.
And if my stocking hung too high,
Would it blur the Christmas glee,
That not a Santa Claus could reach
The altitude of me?
But this sort grieved myself, and so
I thought how it would be
When just this time, some perfect year,
Themselves should come to me.
Emily Dickinson**********************************************************
WE DIED FOR LOVE Gently ~ hand of God doth rule the waves
tumbling waves respond rolling to and fro.
But you and I will walk on sand no more,
we are going where other lovers go.
Gently ~ hand of God doth rule the land
mighty mountain and the vale below
you and I will travel on the shore
safe and sound, where other lovers go.
The mystic breath of God controls the night
moonshine and the starlight's golden glow
but you and I are deep in love no more
we die ~ as Shakespeare's lovers died
long ago.
The whispering voice of God says "Follow Me"
to a place above where the lilac grows
then you and I fall in love once more
sailing to a heaven where loving kindness flows.
Joyce Hemsley**********************************************************
somewhere i have never travelled somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
e. e. cummings **********************************************************
Time and Again TIme and again, however well we know the landscape of love,
and the little church-yard with lamenting names,
and the frightfully silent ravine wherein all the others
end: time and again we go out two together,
under the old trees, lie down again and again
between the flowers, face to face with the sky.
Rainer Maria Rilke **********************************************************
Reluctance Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?
Robert Frost Posted on: October 30, 2006, 12:35:26 AM
Oh yes, I was forgetting to thank all of you who find my poems interesting, also a big thanks to all the ones who lurk in here to enjoy the magic of poetry or is it something else that brings you here
? ....I always know when you are here, for I am always watching you!!!!
tinkerbell
Posted on: October 30, 2006, 01:19:07 AM
Has My Heart Gone To Sleep? Has my heart gone to sleep?
Have the beehives of my dreams
stopped working, the waterwheel
of the mind run dry,
scoops turning empty,
only shadow inside?
No, my heart is not asleep.
It is awake, wide awake.
Not asleep, not dreaming—
its eyes are opened wide
watching distant signals, listening
on the rim of vast silence.
Antonio Machado **********************************************************
The Wind, One Brilliant Day The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
"In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses."
"I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead."
"Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain."
the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
"What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?"
Antonio Machado **********************************************************
The Art of Poetry To gaze at a river made of time and water
And remember Time is another river.
To know we stray like a river
and our faces vanish like water.
To feel that waking is another dream
that dreams of not dreaming and that the death
we fear in our bones is the death
that every night we call a dream.
To see in every day and year a symbol
of all the days of man and his years,
and convert the outrage of the years
into a music, a sound, and a symbol.
To see in death a dream, in the sunset
a golden sadness--such is poetry,
humble and immortal, poetry,
returning, like dawn and the sunset.
Sometimes at evening there's a face
that sees us from the deeps of a mirror.
Art must be that sort of mirror,
disclosing to each of us his face.
They say Ulysses, wearied of wonders,
wept with love on seeing Ithaca,
humble and green. Art is that Ithaca,
a green eternity, not wonders.
Art is endless like a river flowing,
passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the same
inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
and yet another, like the river flowing.
Jorge Luis Borges **********************************************************
To a Cat Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar.
By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
we look for you in vain;
More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch allows the lingering
caress of my hand. You have accepted,
since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.
You belong to another time. You are lord
of a place bounded like a dream.
Jorge Luis Borges Posted on: October 30, 2006, 06:37:31 PM
Only WordsLet me take you on a journey
from the hopes of a nation
to the spirit of one family.
From Washington addressing the troops at Valley Forge
to my great-grandfather preaching from a North Carolina pulpit:
It's only words.
From Jefferson drafting the Declaration of Independence
to my grandmother writing a poem straight from the heart:
It's only words.
From Kennedy's appeal to a generation of youth ("Ask not")
to an e-mailed message of love that arrives from my mother
at just the right moment:
It's only words.
Ephemeral as the paper on which they're written
(or only passing digital dreams)
words remembered, words forgotten
are drawn from the well of creativity
to inspire unity of purpose —
for a family...or for a nation,
gaining strength by bringing us together,
and becoming, finally, much more than
Only words.
Karen ThompsonPosted on: October 30, 2006, 06:51:54 PM
Hypocrisy A rocky desert stretches far
To distant mountains, brown and bare.
A waif, abandoned in the dust,
Wipes flies out of her matted hair.
Her threadbare misery we see,
A poignant vignette on TV,
So aged beyond her seven years!
The interviewer swallows tears.
In her short life she's known no life
But death and war. Now all alone,
This dolly never clutched a doll,
She's never had a loving home.
A war-embittered TV host
Asks this poor wretch what she wants most,
And strains to hear what she has said.
One plaintive word she whispers: "Bread."
From half a world away we watch,
Warm, fat voyeurs in safe, clean homes.
Our indignation is a sham,
Decrying pain that's not our own.
Though we condemn with righteous rage
Injustice in the modern age,
Words without deeds shall always be
Contemptible hypocrisy.
God damn our nations! damn our flags!
And damn religion, every creed!
In pained disgust God turns His back
On men inured to this child's need.
Whatever pious words we say,
Our empty words won't wipe away
The tears of children, forced to dwell
In our world's bitter, man-made hell.
Neil Harding McAlister**********************************************************
Hypocrisy Body in space, thought in time,
this nagging thought of death in mind,
Open to the world, these eyes yet sleeping,
Hoping for Truth, the heart though weeping.
Lost in the chimera of the Self,
Impounded by time, thinking of the timeless,
Living in death, thinking of Love,
Entrapped in illusions, looking for the Real!
Basking in pity, glorifying the dead,
Bound to the past, knowing will not last,
Why is it so hard, to let oneself flow,
Knowing there is so much, waiting to follow.
unknown author**********************************************************
HypocrisyI wonder sometimes if leaving this place
would make things any better.
When things never seem to go right.
Tears swell in my eyes.
And as we fight things never seem to end.
There is always something new.
Things to talk about.
Gossip to spread.
Malice to share.
Lets check off the agenda of those
who have
no heart.
Of those who look around,
and just don't seem
to care.
We all like to place the blame
on someone other than
ourselves.
It's just so easy to do.
To say it's not me
it's you.
As you watch them
breaking down.
We all become that person sometimes.
The one on the receiving end.
And then we wonder
How could you?
Where is your heart?
Why me?
And we find ourselves
staring in the eyes of our hypocrisy.
While those eyes stare back.
Asking those same questions,
while we think
there's nothing wrong
unknown author**********************************************************
Life's Qualities The quality of life is in the mind,
Not in material things.
The world is filled with beauty,
when your heart is filled with love.
So live everyday of your life
as though it were your last.
Cherish yesterday, dream tomorrow,
Live today.
Jessica Kulzer *******************************************************
Posted on: October 30, 2006, 08:13:30 PM
Fake people are everywhere; it just reminds me of the movie "the body snatchers"....scary movie, indeed! "they" would become your parents, your children, your friends, your lover.......
so here is a poem. Enjoy!
The MaskI wear a thousand faces for everyone to see
there is no one besides myself who knows the real me.
A smile upon my face, never see me frown
Yet deep inside within, my worlds turned upside down.
If only I could show them, the me that's really me
The me that has the demon living secretly.
The face I put to the side, the face I"m so quick to hide.
The face that will show you pain, agony, hurt, and disgust.
The face that will tell you I really don't give a f!*k
The face that will lie to you in order to receive personal gain
The face that can show you what it is to really be in pain
The kind of pain that goes deep, deep within your soul
Never leaving only staying doing what it's told
The sad part is it's part of you a part you can't live without
It's become your saddened existence to always make you doubt.
Doubt yourself, your friends, your family, your coworkers, your feelings, your emotions, your dreams, your nightmares
It controls you now and consumes your inner being day after day after day after day
So you wear "THE MASK" and lie to yourself by saying," Everythings fine, Im ok, Im just a little sad today that's all.
You lying hypocrit you fool pretending to be what you're not only to please what others have built you to be
People can't handle it though...you know the truth? If they really knew what you thought inside that messed up twisted thing you call a mind they would have you committed.
Oh yeah...that's right, THEY DID!!!!
unknown authorPosted on: October 30, 2006, 09:12:55 PM
Gerard, Merci pour ton appel. J'ai eu besoin d'entendre ta voix. Tu étais toujours la droite et je suis désolée que je ne toi ai pas écouté avant. Il est un hypocrit et un menteur et un peu fou; Son amie m'a écrit un unpolite email, pouves-tu croire ceci ? elle a posté même un message sous mes forums de poésie, mais je l'ai effacé >
. Je suis contente qu'il fait partie du passé maintenant. Je suis très désolée que je ne toi ai pas entendu avant, tu étais si la droite. Merci pour est là-bas pour moi. Je toi verrai demain
Un poème pour toi avant que je me couche
La poésie et l'amour Un instant peut être une eternité,
quand on est près de l'être aimée,
elle qui nous fait rêver,
et qui est tant aimée ...
Une histoire d'amour,
qui se vie tout les jours,
puisque l'amour est si beau,
et un doux cadeau...
Elle qui nous fait rêver,
chaque jour de notre vie tant aimée,
elle est celle qui a notre coeur,
et qui est un véritable bonheur ...
Une femme qui est amour,
un amour si beau pour toujours,
on aimerait tout offrir à cet amour,
elle est qui là chaque jour ...
Une beauté divine devant nous,
à en devenir tout fou,
elle qui est si belle et à notre coeur,
et qui n'est que du bonheur ...
Pour faire connaître
**********************************************************
I should have listened to youI should have been careful to whom I chose as a friend,
because this person was a wolf in disguise
ready to pounce and cause harm.
I should have listened to what you told me
I should have listened to my own gut feeling,
but I was blind by the desire to be wanted, and yet
I'm blaming myself endlessly.
I should have known the person in front of me,
but I wanted to believe the good in him.
Maybe I was too naive, stupid to be exact
I've learned my lesson, I'll never forget
And yes, you were right, so right, indeed.
tinkerbellPosted on: October 30, 2006, 09:52:09 PM
The Old TrampBelieve me, fair lady, I've told you the truth,
And my presence portends you no harm;
I am weary and sick and would ask but a crusts
And the privilege to sleep in your barn.
I know that I belong to a class that's despised,
And the shame and disgrace do I feel;
But lady, these hands are unsullied with crime,
And I never have stooped to steal
I sometimes am favored with shelter and food
For the charitable yet may be found;
But I am often refused, and sometimes abused,
And 'compelled to sleep out on the ground.
Yes, I once had a home and friends that were dear,
Was happy and proud of my name;
And though I've not borne it for many a year,
It is one not unknown to fame.
There sometimes are reasons we cannot explain,
There are tales that should never be told,
For sympathy ceases to charm away pain
When the heart has grown withered and cold.
The clothes that I wear, though unseemly and old,
Is the garb of the Prussian Uhlans,
And foremost and first in the ranks it was seen
When we charged on the right at Le Mans.
I've espoused every cause that I deemed to be right,
I have often sought death, but in vain;
And whilst others rejoiced that their lives had been
spared,
I envied the ones that were slain.
Though wretched and ragged, I!m destined to roam,
My journey's ahead but a span,
For down from the past I have traversed the years
That God has alloted to man.
Thanks, thanks for your bounty and generous words,
Your kindness I shall not betray,
But offer a prayer for your welfare to-night,
And when the day dawns steal away.
John Sinclair**********************************************************
Answers I keep my answers small and keep them near;
Big questions bruised my mind but still I let
Small answers be a bulwark to my fear.
The huge abstractions I keep from the light;
Small things I handled and caressed and loved.
I let the stars assume the whole of night.
But the big answers clamoured to be moved
Into my life. Their great audacity
Shouted to be acknowledged and believed.
Even when all small answers build up to
Protection of my spirit, I still hear
Big answers striving for their overthrow
And all the great conclusions coming near.
Elizabeth Jennings **********************************************************
When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,
When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died,
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it -- lie down for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew.
And those that were good shall be happy; they shall sit in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair.
They shall find real saints to draw from -- Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!
And only The Master shall praise us, and only The Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!
Rudyard Kipling **********************************************************
Hiroshima Child I come and stand at every door
But none can hear my silent tread
I knock and yet remain unseen
For I am dead for I am dead
I'm only seven though I died
In Hiroshima long ago
I'm seven now as I was then
When children die they do not grow
My hair was scorched by swirling flame
My eyes grew dim my eyes grew blind
Death came and turned my bones to dust
And that was scattered by the wind
I need no fruit I need no rice
I need no sweets nor even bread
I ask for nothing for myself
For I am dead for I am dead
All that I need is that for peace
You fight today you fight today
So that the children of this world
Can live and grow and laugh and play
Nazim Hikmet **********************************************************
True Love True love. Is it normal
is it serious, is it practical?
What does the world get from two people
who exist in a world of their own?
Placed on the same pedestal for no good reason,
drawn randomly from millions but convinced
it had to happen this way - in reward for what?
For nothing.
The light descends from nowhere.
Why on these two and not on others?
Doesn't this outrage justice? Yes it does.
Doesn't it disrupt our painstakingly erected principles,
and cast the moral from the peak? Yes on both accounts.
Look at the happy couple.
Couldn't they at least try to hide it,
fake a little depression for their friends' sake?
Listen to them laughing - its an insult.
The language they use - deceptively clear.
And their little celebrations, rituals,
the elaborate mutual routines -
it's obviously a plot behind the human race's back!
It's hard even to guess how far things might go
if people start to follow their example.
What could religion and poetry count on?
What would be remembered? What renounced?
Who'd want to stay within bounds?
True love. Is it really necessary?
Tact and common sense tell us to pass over it in silence,
like a scandal in Life's highest circles.
Perfectly good children are born without its help.
It couldn't populate the planet in a million years,
it comes along so rarely.
Let the people who never find true love
keep saying that there's no such thing.
Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.
Wislawa Szymborska
