War Is Never Over

War is never over Thought the treaties may be signed The memories of the battles Are forever in our minds War is never over So when you welcome heroes home Remember in their minds they hold Memories known to them alone

I'll Hold You Close

Distant memories lost in time, I close my eyes and think of you. Memories of the way we were, Glaze my eyes, like morning dew. I hear your voice so clearly now, A loving smile, lights up your face. We walk together, hand in hand, Then head for home, that special place.

Alabaster

LIKE this alabaster box whose art Is frail as a cassia-flower, is my heart, Carven with delicate dreams and wrought With many a subtle and exquisite thought. Therein I treasure the spice and scent Of rich and passionate memories blent Like odours of cinnamon, sandal and clove, Of song and sorrow and life and love.

My Love, I Am Crying For Your Love......

You said to me that you will be there on that day but when that day came then you were not there for me So much love showered and so many promises were made but nothing worked on my way because you had gone My love, I am crying for you because my love turned blue The heaven stolen you from me and left the memories only Though your soul vanished in the sky but my love never dies for you I tell those angels how much I love you and care for you and ask them to make your soul always happy till I come to you

. I Can'T Stop Loving Her! (Dark

Behind her doors, live a pool of joy. Whiles smiles cover our face A mist of confusion Awaits at our gates After days of gladness The bitterness of love kicks in Like hungry dogs we fight! Spitting words that can break a heart! Like branches we fall apart Her memories torture my head

Baccalaureate

A year or two, and grey Euripides, And Horace and a Lydia or so, And Euclid and the brush of Angelo, Darwin on man, Vergilius on bees, The nose and Dialogues of Socrates, Don Quixote, Hudibras and Trinculo, How worlds are spawned and where the dead gods go,-- All shall be shard of broken memories. And there shall linger other, magic things,--

Broken Dreams

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. For your sole sake -- that all heart's ache have known, And given to others all heart's ache, From meagre girlhood's putting on Burdensome beauty -- for your sole sake

Memories

The week after the funeral the house was cleared Memories taken to the auctioneers to be sold off, The polished sideboard and dining room table, The picture frames now empty of smiling faces. Treasures collected and stored over fifty years. Memories now fading, scattered to the four winds. Only ghosts remain. Now the house is empty and a for sale sign hangs From the bedroom window as the cold winters chill

A Drowsy Afternoon

Mellow meadows, shimmering in summers heat, dipping down the valley, rolling down the steep hillside. What a delightful and pleasurable treat, to sit and ponder, and wander, your feet deep amongst the wild flowers, where drones the sweet bees, collecting nectar, an endless toil,

My Flowery Youth

Youth is that fountain....which must one day dry no matter how much one may try youth does die but in form of aging skin and balding hair but the heart within remains youthful....till aging....is an age passed dream youth remains within we still need only watering what a youth we all have enjoyed....reading our past in your lovely verse ‘tis as if yesterday we were in youth... now 'tis worse... left in memories as in this youthful verse let youth be the comma of our life..... not a coma where youthful memories die

A Life

a life is, , , a smile.... a tears.... and a memories.... the smile, will disappear... the tears, will dry out... but the memories still for ever....

My Picture-Callery

IN a little house keep I pictures suspended, it is not a fix'd house, It is round, it is only a few inches from one side to the other; Yet behold, it has room for all the shows of the world, all memories? Here the tableaus of life, and here the groupings of death; Here, do you know this? this is cicerone himself, With finger rais'd he points to the prodigal pictures.

Evening Nostalgia

In the falling dusk the heartbeat of memories sounds above the panting breath of invading silence and loud are the footsteps of time that once was but will never be again.

' A Cardboard Box'

Crawled under the house to retrieve something's that I had fogotten. While I took them out, I sorted and found that most of what I'd stored, was damp and rotten. As I sorted through the memories I once knew stuck together were photos of me and my brother. As I pulled them apart, their memories rushed to my heart past memories now a big part of all the others.

Lovely Seashells

Memories

Walking down the rough streets of life I am truly all alone, With hopes of new dreams turning true, Olden days are long bygone. Pieces of scattered, distressed remembrance Still reflect in my bruised mind, I wish they don't ever return And want them to stay behind. When you make my heart bleed, It causes unbearable pain,

You Remain

As a perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain, Will not leave me; all things leave me - You remain. Other thoughts may come and go, Other moments I may know That shall waft me, in their going,

Morning Sea

Let me stop here. Let me, too, look at nature awhile. The brilliant blue of the morning sea, of the cloudless sky, the yellow shore; all lovely, all bathed in light. Let me stand here. And let me pretend I see all this (I really did see it for a minute when I first stopped) and not my usual day-dreams here too, my memories, those images of sensual pleasure.

Rain Has Fallen All The Day

Rain has fallen all the day. O come among the laden trees: The leaves lie thick upon the way Of memories. Staying a little by the way Of memories shall we depart. Come, my beloved, where I may Speak to your heart.

It Is Not A Word"

It is not a word spoken, Few words are said; Nor even a look of the eyes Nor a bend of the head, But only a hush of the heart That has too much to keep, Only memories waking That sleep so light a sleep.