To my Forever Friend,

Respecting your wish.

May God Heal your Broken Heart,

Mend your Troubled Mind,

Soothe your Saddened Soul,

And Rekindle your Flickering Spirit.

I'm here when or if you ever need me..............Hugs, Keith...---<<<(((*_*)))>>>---...

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“Only as high as I reach can I grow, only as far as I seek can I go, only as deep as I look can I see, only as much as I dream can I be....

From a Lover of life ,family and friends, My Bestest Jango friend, Shakira. You're worth way more than your weight in gold Sweet friend...---<<<(((*_*)))>>>---...

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Twilight (By Lord Byron)

It is the hour when from the boughs

The nightingale's high note is heard.

It is the hour when lovers' vows

Seem sweet in every whisper'd word.

And gentle winds and waters near

Make music to the lonely ear.

Each flower the dews have lightly wet,

And in the sky the stars are met:

And on the wave is deeper blue,

And on the leaf a browner hue,

And in the Heaven, that clear obscure

So softly dark and darkly pure,

That follows the decline of day

As twilight melts beneath the moon away .

(Sent to me by My Dear Friend Anny, Thank you for your gift. God Bless You and Your Soldier...Hugs, Keith...---<<<(((*_*)))>>>---...)

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A Dream is a Wish...That your Heart Makes...

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True Love is Loving another whether or not they love you. True Love Is loving another in spite of their flaws and imperfections. True Love is Prizing the Happiness of another above your own. True Love is selfless. True Love is discovered only over Time. True Love can be Lonely and Sad. True Love Cries in Silence. True Love Lies in Silence. True Love Waits. True Love Dreams...---<<<(((*_*)))>>>---...

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"For all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams." - Pedro Calderon de la Barca - (Sent to me by Jango friend .niE. ^_~)

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Darkness - a poem by Lord Byron

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars

Did wander darkling in the eternal space,

Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth

Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;

Morn came, and went and came, and brought no day,

And men forgot their passions in the dread

Of this desolation; and all hearts

Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:

And they did live by watchfires - and the thrones,

The palaces of crowned kings, the huts,

The habitations of all things which dwell,

Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,

And men were gathered round their blazing homes

To look once more into each other's face;

Happy were those who dwelt within the eye

Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:

A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;

Forest were set on fire but hour by hour

They fell and faded and the crackling trunks

Extinguish'd with a crash and all was black.

The brows of men by the despairing light

Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits

The flashes fell upon them; some lay down

And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest

Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;

And others hurried to and fro, and fed

Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up

With mad disquietude on the dull sky,

The pall of a past world; and then again

With curses cast them down upon the dust,

And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd,

And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,

And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes

Came tame and tremolous; and vipers crawl'd

And twined themselves among the multitude,

Hissing, but stingless, they were slain for food:

And War, which for a moment was no more,

Did glut himself again; a meal was bought

With blood, and each sate sullenly apart

Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;

All earth was but one thought and that was death,

Immediate and inglorious; and the pang

Of famine fed upon all entrails men

Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;

The meagre by the meagre were devoured,

Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,

And he was faithful to a corpse, and kept

The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,

Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead

Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,

But with a piteous and perpetual moan

And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand

Which answered not with a caress, he died.

The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two

Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies;

They met beside

The dying embers of an altar-place

Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things

For an unholy usage; they raked up,

And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands

The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath

Blew for a little life, and made a flame

Wich was a mockery; then they lifted up

Their eyes as it grew lighter, and

Each other's aspects. saw, and shriek'd, and died, beheld

Even of their mutual hideousness they died,

Unknowing who he was upon whose brow

Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,

The populous and the powerful was a lump,

Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless,

A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay.

The rivers, lakes, and ocean stood still,

And nothing stirred within their silent depths;

Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,

And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp'd

They slept on the abyss without a surge

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,

The moon their mistress had expired before;

The winds were withered in the stagnant air,

And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need

Of aid from them. She was the universe.

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A Dream within a dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow--

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand--

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep--while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

- Edgar Allan Poe

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The Dream by Lord Byron

I

Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world,

A boundary between the things misnamed

Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,

And a wide realm of wild reality,

And dreams in their development have breath,

And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;

They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,

They take a weight from off waking toils,

They do divide our being; they become

A portion of ourselves as of our time,

And look like heralds of eternity;

They pass like spirits of the past—they speak

Like sibyls of the future; they have power—

The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;

They make us what we were not—what they will,

And shake us with the vision that's gone by,

The dread of vanished shadows—Are they so?

Is not the past all shadow?—What are they?

Creations of the mind?—The mind can make

Substances, and people planets of its own

With beings brighter than have been, and give

A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.

I would recall a vision which I dreamed

Perchance in sleep—for in itself a thought,

A slumbering thought, is capable of years,

And curdles a long life into one hour.

II

I saw two beings in the hues of youth

Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill,

Green and of mild declivity, the last

As 'twere the cape of a long ridge of such,

Save that there was no sea to lave its base,

But a most living landscape, and the wave

Of woods and corn-fields, and the abodes of men

Scattered at intervals, and wreathing smoke

Arising from such rustic roofs: the hill

Was crowned with a peculiar diadem

Of trees, in circular array, so fixed,

Not by the sport of nature, but of man:

These two, a maiden and a youth, were there

Gazing—the one on all that was beneath

Fair as herself—but the boy gazed on her;

And both were young, and one was beautiful:

And both were young—yet not alike in youth.

As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge,

The maid was on the eve of womanhood;

The boy had fewer summers, but his heart

Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye

There was but one beloved face on earth,

And that was shining on him; he had looked

Upon it till it could not pass away;

He had no breath, no being, but in hers:

She was his voice; he did not speak to her,

But trembled on her words; she was his sight,

For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers,

Which coloured all his objects;—he had ceased

To live within himself: she was his life,

The ocean to the river of his thoughts,

Which terminated all; upon a tone,

A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow,

And his cheek change tempestuously—his heart

Unknowing of its cause of agony.

But she in these fond feelings had no share:

Her sighs were not for him; to her he was

Even as a brother—but no more; 'twas much,

For brotherless she was, save in the name

Her infant friendship had bestowed on him;

Herself the solitary scion left

Of a time-honoured race.—It was a name

Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not—and why?

Time taught him a deep answer—when she loved

Another; even now she loved another,

And on the summit of that hill she stood

Looking afar if yet her lover's steed

Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew.

III

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

There was an ancient mansion, and before

Its walls there was a steed caparisoned:

Within an antique Oratory stood

The Boy of whom I spake;—he was alone,

And pale, and pacing to and fro: anon

He sate him down, and seized a pen, and traced

Words which I could not guess of; then he leaned

His bowed head on his hands and shook, as 'twere

With a convulsion—then rose again,

And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear

What he had written, but he shed no tears.

And he did calm himself, and fix his brow

Into a kind of quiet: as he paused,

The Lady of his love re-entered there;

She was serene and smiling then, and yet

She knew she was by him beloved; she knew—

For quickly comes such knowledge—that his heart

Was darkened with her shadow, and she saw

That he was wretched, but she saw not all.

He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp

He took her hand; a moment o'er his face

A tablet of unutterable thoughts

Was traced, and then it faded, as it came;

He dropped the hand he held, and with slow steps

Retired, but not as bidding her adieu,

For they did part with mutual smiles; he passed

From out the massy gate of that old Hall,

And mounting on his steed he went his way;

And ne'er repassed that hoary threshold more.

IV

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

The Boy was sprung to manhood: in the wilds

Of fiery climes he made himself a home,

And his Soul drank their sunbeams; he was girt

With strange and dusky aspects; he was not

Himself like what he had been; on the sea

And on the shore he was a wanderer;

There was a mass of many images

Crowded like waves upon me, but he was

A part of all; and in the last he lay

Reposing from the noontide sultriness,

Couched among fallen columns, in the shade

Of ruined walls that had survived the names

Of those who reared them; by his sleeping side

Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds

Were fastened near a fountain; and a man,

Glad in a flowing garb, did watch the while,

While many of his tribe slumbered around:

And they were canopied by the blue sky,

So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful,

That God alone was to be seen in heaven.

V

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

The Lady of his love was wed with One

Who did not love her better: in her home,

A thousand leagues from his,—her native home,

She dwelt, begirt with growing Infancy,

Daughters and sons of Beauty,—but behold!

Upon her face there was a tint of grief,

The settled shadow of an inward strife,

And an unquiet drooping of the eye,

As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.

What could her grief be?—she had all she loved,

And he who had so loved her was not there

To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish,

Or ill-repressed affliction, her pure thoughts.

What could her grief be?—she had loved him not,

Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved,

Nor could he be a part of that which preyed

Upon her mind—a spectre of the past.

VI

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

The Wanderer was returned.—I saw him stand

Before an altar—with a gentle bride;

Her face was fair, but was not that which made

The Starlight of his Boyhood;—as he stood

Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came

The selfsame aspect and the quivering shock

That in the antique Oratory shook

His bosom in its solitude; and then—

As in that hour—a moment o'er his face

The tablet of unutterable thoughts

Was traced—and then it faded as it came,

And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke

The fitting vows, but heard not his own words,

And all things reeled around him; he could see

Not that which was, nor that which should have been—

But the old mansion, and the accustomed hall,

And the remembered chambers, and the place,

The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade,

All things pertaining to that place and hour,

And her who was his destiny, came back

And thrust themselves between him and the light;

What business had they there at such a time?

VII

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

The Lady of his love;—Oh! she was changed,

As by the sickness of the soul; her mind

Had wandered from its dwelling, and her eyes,

They had not their own lustre, but the look

Which is not of the earth; she was become

The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts

Were combinations of disjointed things;

And forms impalpable and unperceived

Of others' sight familiar were to hers.

And this the world calls frenzy; but the wise

Have a far deeper madness, and the glance

Of melancholy is a fearful gift;

What is it but the telescope of truth?

Which strips the distance of its fantasies,

And brings life near in utter nakedness,

Making the cold reality too real!

VIII

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

The Wanderer was alone as heretofore,

The beings which surrounded him were gone,

Or were at war with him; he was a mark

For blight and desolation, compassed round

With Hatred and Contention; Pain was mixed

In all which was served up to him, until,

Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,

He fed on poisons, and they had no power,

But were a kind of nutriment; he lived

Through that which had been death to many men,

And made him friends of mountains; with the stars

And the quick Spirit of the Universe

He held his dialogues: and they did teach

To him the magic of their mysteries;

To him the book of Night was opened wide,

And voices from the deep abyss revealed

A marvel and a secret.—Be it so.

IX

My dream is past; it had no further change.

It was of a strange order, that the doom

Of these two creatures should be thus traced out

Almost like a reality—the one

To end in madness—both in misery.

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Song Of A Dream

Once in the dream of a night I stood

Lone in the light of a magical wood,

Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;

And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,

And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,

And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed

In that magical wood in the land of sleep.

Lone in the light of that magical grove,

I felt the stars of the spirits of Love

Gather and gleam round my delicate youth,

And I heard the song of the spirits of Truth;

To quench my longing I bent me low

By the streams of the spirits of Peace that flow

In that magical wood in the land of sleep.

- Sarojini Naidu

Poetry, Art and Music. They speak to the soul.

Sitcoms and Cartoons. Gotta Be Well Rounded

Horror and Hero Films

Classics