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What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
There's a patch of old snow in a corner
That I should have guessed
Was a blow-away paper the rain
Had brought to rest.
One heavy day I ran away from the grim face of society and the dizzying clamor of the city and directed my weary step to the spacious alley. I pursued the beckoning course of the rivulet and the musical sounds of the birds until I reached a lonely spot where the flowing branches of the trees prevented the sun from the touching the earth.
I stood there, and it was entertaining to my soul - my thirsty soul who had seen naught but the mirage of life instead of its sweetness.
Have you forgotten yet?...
For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!--yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost forever:
So much have I forgotten in ten years,
So much in ten brief years! I have forgot
What time the purple apples come to juice,
And what month brings the shy forget-me-not.
When I die choose a star
and name it after me
that you may know
I have not abandoned
I Celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
'A soldier of the Union mustered out,'
Is the inscription on an unknown grave
At Newport News, beside the salt-sea wave,
blackbirds on the telephone wire
as I eat yesterday's
I thought I had forgotten,
But it all came back again
To-night with the first spring thunder
In a rush of rain.
The new hath come and now the old retires:
And so the past becomes a mountain-cell,
Where lone, apart, old hermit-memories dwell
In consecrated calm, forgotten yet
HOW steep the stairs within Kings' houses are
For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,
And O how salt and bitter is the bread
Which falls from this Hound's table,--better far
Nay, do not grieve tho' life be full of sadness,
Dawn will not veil her spleandor for your grief,
Nor spring deny their bright, appointed beauty
To lotus blossom and ashoka leaf.
All lovely things will have an ending,
All lovely things will fade and die,
And youth, that's now so bravely spending,
Will beg a penny by and by.
Having crossed the river,
where will you go, O friend?
There's no road to tread,
No traveler ahead,
I had forgotten how the frogs must sound
After a year of silence, else I think
Even while I dreamed I prayed that what I saw was only fear and no foretelling,
for I saw the last known landscape destroyed for the sake
of the objective, the soil bludgeoned, the rock blasted.
Those who had wanted to go home would never get there now.
I want to give you something, my child, for we are drifting in the
stream of the world.
Our lives will be carried apart, and our love forgotten.
But I am not so foolish as to hope that I could buy your heart
No days such honored days as these! While yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set
public fear was being terror sown into society;
research decided to write about a forgotten
deadly killer malaria that was Africa ignored;
meanwhile other deadly diseases media circus
on this dreaming, forgetful earth
let telegrams go out
We have forgotten to laugh.
We are busy with our own work.
We have forgotten to obey.
It's almost a year and you're still in the obliette of your blue funk. Do you think you have been thrown in that pit of misery and forgotten? I don't forget you, in spite of your assurances 'yes we will always be friends' or ' I'm not ghosting you, it isn't anything personal. I'm just in a funk right now'. It seems we might have changed places. I'm in the obliette. Not ghosted, not taking it personally, simply thrown into the pit where people are forgotten. Obliette, a place of forgetting, a place for the forgotten. Not ghosted, nothing personal, simply forgotten. Friends come, friends go, friends are forgotten.
poem by amber Marie
THE FORGOTTEN WIFE
Have we forgotten the space? Have I? Where the stars are far and shines, where we cannot survive without the science. All similarly could die. All equally may die without our science. Have we forgotten the spacecraft? Have I? From here differently we can admire the sky, the moon, the sun and breathe and toast at the human life!
Lost in my thought and I realize maybe some people aren't suppose to have legacy some souls are supposed to disappear and never be remembered off gone and dismembered in the the mind forgotten through time I think this is my fate I won't be a thing just an after thought floating through time forgotten even in my friends mind once I'm gone I'm certain everything about me will be forgotten like the wind I passed in a moment and gone within the next.
An aged pilgrim prostrating at the steps
of Potola Palace, to her piety I bow
My feelings long since forgotten now
Far between my fears forgotten,
Behind masks made by the guilty ones,
She asked me if what I thought was what i'm thinking
N' freedom flashed through sands of forgotten sorrows
bhool jao jaisay tum kisi phool ko bhool jatay ho
us aag ko bhool jatey ho jo sonay ko shudh karti hai
bhool jao, bhool jao hamesha k liyay
kyon k waqt dyalu dost hai jo booDha tumain kar deta hai
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