Through this old skylight our eyes are open wide,
The sky bespangled in the rain.
And we feel called upon but interests collide,
Not much to lose, a lot to gain.
Don't lose your line of sight now*
And raise the barricades somehow.
It's time to leave the lores
So blow them sky high,
In sound and fury they will fly.
«There's nothing to it» and «stick to your last»,
Shown of all romance their life spans.
The charm of novelty or adoring the past,
No more among the also rans.
It spread like wildfire in a day,
«And there'll be crash-land,» so they say.
Well proven patterns
So it must be vertigo,
But we will give them quite a show.
Take away a man's dreams, and he will be so empty that he will not even fit for the most primitive interlocutor.
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading — treading — till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -
And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating — beating — till I thought
My Mind was going numb -
And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space — began to toll,
As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here -
And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing — then -
Loneliness is easier to stand — when you are in search of a soulmate, but kills — when you wait for nobody.
The pessimist is a person who always finds a mournful note in joyful music.