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Samuel Smith Poems
Yesterday I was told by a friend to answer a question, This question didn’t make me think of me but we. It took me by surprise and I stood in hesitation. She told me to tell her if she was someone special to me?
A woman told me that it was impossible to love her, That she will show me nothing but regret. That I should forsake my side by her, And live the rest of my life with forget.
As I stand before you, my head is filed with a thousand questions, All of them inferring me the same suggestions; To forsake my fears and to embrace our future years, So for what comes next I need no tears but open hears.
Si te dijiera que esto no es un poema, me lo creerias? Si te susurro versos al oido, serrian cursilerias? No, eso es algo que nunca me dirias. Alcontrario, creo que es algo que me agradecerias.
A brave warrior puts on his mask, not of silver or gold, but wax. He draws his crimson blade, for he is accustomed to the blame.
Today you have not only turned one year older, But you have also turned one year wiser; You have learned that there are things you can and cannot shoulder, And because of this you have become my most loved adviser.
Shameless Shadow who despises light, Why do you hate what makes you live? Would you consume your life just to please? The endless void, that lives in thee.
Hello my unseen joy, tell me What have you learned from life? Is it a thing we can use as a toy, or is it a place were people hide behind a hidden knife?
Me quede pensando con lo que dijiste; sobre yo no actuando tan romántico, Pero debes de recordar que como soy cálido, también soy muy ártico.
My name is Black; I am the one you once called a friend. And even if you try to bind me, I will never bend. For I am the pride you now have confined, In the darkest corner of your mind.
As I lay in bed, I close my eyes and imagine, That you lay beside me with your head on my chest;
There is a desire I cannot fulfill, It is mime and mine alone, It is sickening my will, For it a sore and mone.
I once knew man, that knew nothing of love, Not of the joy of site nor the agony of thought. A stranger to its twisted form of art, As a blind man throwing a dart.
How can I tell you how I feel? My love for you is like a wheel. It spins and spins without stop, My mind becomes dizzy like a top.
Comments about Samuel Smith
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Yesterday I was told by a friend to answer a question,
This question didn’t make me think of me but we.
It took me by surprise and I stood in hesitation.
She told me to tell her if she was someone special to me?
I admit I am a man of a few words,
And when I have to speak of my feelings;
My mind turns my mouth in to closed doors,
Gates that hide the most concealed things.
So to answer your question I will do what I fear,
I will give you what you want.
To steal your souls tear,
And give you the elixir of your want.
So ill find the gate ...