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She calls to me Her sweet melody Sweeping through the aisles I hear her song Ringing in my ears Her voice so angelic She calls to me As she belts her tune And I am on the edge of my seat
Perhaps she lives In our dreams alone, She whose face is Illumined By the rays Of the sun, While the dansette plays Some romantic melody, O how I love The one
Love on the blue Baltic Sea The love I call Baltic melody, Love, there’s a love That’s hard to seize, Love carried by the summer breeze, Love on the blue Baltic Sea
Young teen in the streets, looking for love on empty. Mother's love wasn't enough so she had to leave. Then she met you, bright eyed beauty. Never knew she was special Late night convos, a late night session
“If you can speak you can sing,And if you can walk you can dance,”She used to say.We all would laugh behindOur handsAnd raise our eyebrows, neverBelieving, because we wereToo clumsy,Too busy,
a melody strung upon a page, many don't understand. what they see strange symbols latin words
The songs we survive on, drive on, and live for. What is this love that embraces our core? This love, that make us reckless and weak. In the same breath makes us hopeless and meek.
Windows down Engine's going Music drowns the sounds of the roadside roaring Leaving town Songs are flowing Music drowns the sounds of those left snoring Melodic cloud Alive and soaring
A melody played on the wind Tangles itself amongst the smoke Air crisp with cedar pine Still cold while the sun has broke A gentle lull of a new day Rousing all from slumbers full
On midday, after school, a boy picked up a beautiful guitar the color of sunset; He tuned it and proceeded it play it, to play the music of his life, the sounds of his soul, he relieved all his stress.
Sweet bird, write music. Listen to your heart. Listen to the mellow beats of music. Listen to every note as the pianist plays. Listen to the rhythm of guitar strings
Listen to her, as she plays that melody that I once knew. That song that I thought was my saving grace, twisted now to a devils song. I want it to end, yet how could it stop, when for so long
What I Can't Live Without
What would this life be without you? Without your sweet melodies And your soft symphonies? What would I turn to When I can’t focus Or when I am feeling discouraged?
With delicate fingers An ancient song is woven from the soils of melancholy and ambition Notes articulated each to their own Black ink expressed with charisma on the white parchment
She plays a love song to the waves as they gently kiss the sand; She plays a waltz to the palm trees as they dance in unison; She plays a lullaby to the setting sun
I want to live in a song Where every rhythmic beat is a stairway to my soul And every low key reverses time and I rise again Living inside the enchanted heart Where music smells as of the breeze of an ocean's shore
I hear it, my body takes over.My foot uncontrollably leads the way.The beat tapping on my attention like Morse code.
Warm humbling nights after rain,quiet mornings when the day is brand new -
One eye Stung by a bee But with no eye working You cannot see Two eyes As it´s meant to be But two eyes means one man And that´ll get lonely Three eyes Unusually
Through beams of wood, light reaches for silver souls afloat. A single breeze, a reverberation from the other layer of time, Air dancing to the melody of ghosts across skin, Just brushing the nerves, barely greeting,
I lay in bed, caressed by my warm covers. Staring out of the window; that is littered, With translucent, tiny little bulbs of water. I hear it. I hear it against my window.
I hear their cries in my ever warping dreams
Youth. Innocent, playful, potential victim. Seeing the real world first hand, scared.
Day by day revolvingLife moving forward by minutesOpportunity Leaves die but renewWhen the student finds their tunePast no longer troubles
That melody, that melody, that haunts my wretched brain,It fills my dreams by night it, it follows thought by day.That melody, that melody, its source I think of in vainIt is ever with me, whether I sit or stand or lay.
Warbling voices Sorrowful words of reproach Lulling us through pain.
In the song of life, all lyrics need a melody You are both the lyric and melody You are the lyric of my heart and of my soul The beauty of the rose, speaks a lyric of love Love, speaks a lyric of you
There's just somethin Bout the beat of a drum, An acoustic guitar, The way a man strums That touches my heart And moves my feet, Always making me Feel the beat The cowboy boots
The partridge swings happily in the tree, For some reason it cannot see, The death day is drawing near, And the partridge doesn't show fear, A cat awaits from afar,
Your words sound as sweet as the morning dew and yet thy words play with my gentle heart too innocent to unveil what flew through thy humbling failures cast us apart A small bird I am doth sing my tune
ARGUMENT. Baile and Aillinn were lovers, but Aengus, the Master of Love, wishing them to he happy in his own land among the dead, told to each a story of the other's death, so that their hearts were broken and they died.
Once more the storm is howling, and half hid Under this cradle-hood and coverlid My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle But Gregory's wood and one bare hill Whereby the haystack- and roof-levelling wind,
(poems go here) DEAR fellow-artist, why so free With every sort of company, With every Jack and Jill? Choose your companions from the best; Who draws a bucket with the rest Soon topples down the hill.
MY dear, my dear, I know More than another What makes your heart beat so; Not even your own mother Can know it as I know, Who broke my heart for her When the wild thought, That she denies
A mermaid found a swimming lad, Picked him for her own, Pressed her body to his body, Laughed; and plunging down Forgot in cruel happiness That even lovers drown.
THERE is grey in your hair. Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath When you are passing; But maybe some old gaffer mutters a blessing Because it was your prayer Recovered him upon the bed of death.
(poems go here) 'O WORDS are lightly spoken,' Said Pearse to Connolly, 'Maybe a breath of politic words Has withered our Rose Tree; Or maybe but a wind that blows Across the bitter sea.'
(poems go here) WHERE dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water rats; There we've hid our faery vats, Full of berrys
Music, the icing on the cake, Music, the jubilant fish in the lake. The vibes of my heart, The most colorful form of art. My bright life and happiness so far, Comes with the lid of the piano slightly ajar.
You are my muse and my melody A song in my head, my harmony I'm not Beethoven or Mozart But when I write my heart talks
Melodic perfection winds through my ears and finds my heart. Authentic purity overcomes me in the length of a cleansing sigh. I am an extension of the music.
The World ending in Fire, or perhaps in Ice, Possibly Darkness, Maybe Light. The Fires of Passion. Glaciers of Hatred. The Fear of Darkness. Light of Acceptance.
Would you sit with me again, and pour your heart in song? As I crawl and drag myself along, You crawled too, shared my burden with me.
As our ears experience the melodies of violins We can't help but surrender and fall into a beautiful trance. The cellos flow in, adding to the mind-numbing lullaby.
The roar of the crowd rang in our ears This is the night we have dreamed of for years A measure of drums started our tune The Growl of my guitar filled the room Then came the lyrics The thump of the bass
Often my body sings the song of life, trying to outlive death. A breeze seems to take my body and guide me to the familiar ivory and wood, My head commands my fingers to dance along the keys, they do as they should
When did it become so difficult to predict? The next departure, the next movement, the harmony? Why is it that we go on about letting society tell us what to do?
That one place The very center of my heart, My very being, My soul. It has led me to New Adventures. New Friends. Lessons Learned and forgotten. And music. Music
Life is a symphony, we are all instruments, And time is the conductor of the orchestra. We live inside our own concerto With its strums, and its beats, and its drums, Its crescendo
And the melody finally reaches my ears Those which have been assaulted by lies Configured fears. And the notes The lilts The passion Comfort, liven, hearten. My guarded heart opens.