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Vincent Barrowcliffe Poems
What deems to enter, within the glory of its day, Into the fading realms of history may? Is it not the thought of the joy of freedom, say! Where order and republic supreme lay!
The Prophet I
Long millenia ago, ere The Universe, to prevail There wast, The One, Whose Mighty, Infinite Magnificence, Wouldst pervade, eall Life, eall matter, but once, There wast infinite emptiness, wouldst everything come thence.
A Death Without Mourns
Thy son hast not comforted, He lived a life alone, Now, leaves, as his breath, To none, shalt it be known,
An Animal's Story
I was born, without speech, To benevolent Mother Earth, Feeble, flaccid, ignorant of this cruel world, That love of my Mother had hid in her kind mirth;
On Letters and Words
What meaning lies in letters arranged? Do letters convey the reality of thought? With what man in greed is estranged, Is that, of black-ink, the blot?
To A Child
O'er the fields of paddy and rie, And as far as could my vision see, Where blooms not a rose, not a daisy, A child walks, with a sigh;
Choice, as is but ours, is to lose, They who with burdens are fraught, live free, For their lives are in ingnorance, with no purpose, They who in service are selfless, prevail in glee;
A wait, a dream I
I glanced, as the sun withdrew, Upon the horizon, dusks of broken dreams, Forlorn, I stand, sorrows afew, Whence, amongst the pouring water, is felled a dew,
Of sorrow, of loneliness
'Thou hast fillest me with Light, Thy reasons art unknown, But Thee left me in loneliness, For alone, now, shalt I mourn.
I hence regret
Where I went astray, In the darkness of the light's betray, Where I committed crimes, Singing of unknown times;
The Prophet II
And The Creation, which He hadst created, whence His Breath Floweth, now rose and expanded, within His realm of Grey Curtains, And there wert later realms of small formed, realms of utter magnificence, Of these realms, knew the Souls of His realm of Grey,
An Experience Of His Grace
'Twas a night, of shadows, I walked alone, through a misty breeze, There were howls and cries, Of fear, that were not for me to cease;
A Mirror Of The Past
I glanced into the mirror of the past, And, in through it, I fell Into the times old, I was shown, where once, did I dwell.
Thou, in Thy Infinite magnificence, hast fulfilled our prayers, For now, that we shalt be Risen by Thy Loving, Blessed Child, Until we merge into Thee.
Quotationsmore quotations »
''There can be no seed in a field of flowers.''Attributed to growth. In a field of flowers where flowers bloom, how can a seed remain forever dormant?
Comments about Vincent Barrowcliffe
(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)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
What deems to enter, within the glory of its day,
Into the fading realms of history may?
Is it not the thought of the joy of freedom, say!
Where order and republic supreme lay!
The flags in their merry swirls sway high,
And remind of the glory that again shall pry,
Our hearts open to that resounding war-cry,
Which without violence made slavery die!
The merry march of our guards unto the end of the road,
Lead us along, to that freedom's abode,
Which neither thought nor action of man could corrode,
And in that heaven is our future sow'd.