War be with Us always,
Crusades need not be.
Fighting is a profession
And should not be,
A damnable devotion.
A strange Duck I be,
Fearing the killing with passion;
Maybe only a cold-hearted Soul.
Copyright.LawranceGeorgeLux2003.
Want to review or comment on this poem?
Need a FREE Reader Membership?
Reviews of "Crusades"
Reviewed by
Reviewed on February 11, 2003
yes, only cold hearted souls. powerful write lawrence.
Shadowing
What language does war speak, that whips
dew-moistened jasmines to their fall?
What filaments spin from its tongue, that weaves
a dangerous brocade of diplomatic shawls?
Why are the birds so suddenly quiet?
Were they swallowed in their blue?
by hunting night cats over the roofed tiles
moving along earth's folds
with tempting curvatures,
determined
they spill intoxicating nocturnal perfume
and mother of pearl, at the wings of sleeping sparrows.
I have nothing but my children and my words, yet I sit
by the edge of this fading medley of songs
my light, a mirror away from my shadow.
O, to soar behind the moonlight!
...to get lost...
This book chronicles an infinite allegoric odyssey of Absolute Awakening in which a learned man, a mute man, and a recluse woman are the principal players. The mute and the recluse are the learned one's Teachers and Guides on his journey of Enlighten
The Double Mirrors and Ones and Zeros theories, by Dylan Tauber. Parallel mirrors in our minds produce a vision of the infinite. Love is all that exists. Free PDF download.
This combined narrative dialogue and play is about the uncreated, unborn and undying transcendent Self of God-consciousness and Buddha-nature. It describes an odyssey of transcendent Consciousness Awakening and Remembrance.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Shadowing
What language does war speak, that whips
dew-moistened jasmines to their fall?
What filaments spin from its tongue, that weaves
a dangerous brocade of diplomatic shawls?
Why are the birds so suddenly quiet?
Were they swallowed in their blue?
by hunting night cats over the roofed tiles
moving along earth's folds
with tempting curvatures,
determined
they spill intoxicating nocturnal perfume
and mother of pearl, at the wings of sleeping sparrows.
I have nothing but my children and my words, yet I sit
by the edge of this fading medley of songs
my light, a mirror away from my shadow.
O, to soar behind the moonlight!
...to get lost...
Minerva~
it's a sad, sad, world.
I have a marine son, and war is the last thing i want
you sound angry.