Evan

Easy living and I'll be forgiven

                                                    
Learning not only languages of men, but of bodies, of souls, of nature, of machines and above all of gods (the last one would be music to our mortal ears)                                                          
I forgot to mention the ethereal ambrosia of the Harbour and the celestial nectar of the Highlands, so add the languages of self indulgence to the list                                                             
                                                                                          
Life you did embitter me so much                                          
one morning I'll leave out of touch                                          
and in an airplane I will board                                                   
to look from up there at the world                                             
                                                                                          
When you're looking from high above                                          
the earth is a painting, kind of                                                
this earth you took much to heart of                                          
this earth you took much to heart of                                          
                                                                                          
The houses look so much like matchboxes                              
the people look like ants that stroll                                          
and the largest mansion there is                                             
not larger than a childish ball                                          
                                                                                          
And all of them who did embitter you                                          
if you do look from high enough                                                 
they will appear so indifferent                                                  
that recalling them will be tough                                          
                                                                                            
Oh my beloved one don't you cry                                          
should you want we'll go up high                                              
to look at this earth from the moon                                          
it's just a moonlet or balloon                                              
                                                                                            
The towers look so much like dollhouses                                    
and canons like toys do appear                                             
from high enough you cannot tell                                             
the adornments and the fancy gear                                          
                                                                                            
Whatever embittered or bewildered you                                       
if you do look from high enough                                                 
it will appear pretty indifferent                                                   
that recalling it will be tough                                                
Sotia Tsotou


             .-.,     ,.-.
        '-.  /:::\\   //:::\  .-'
        '-.\|':':' `"` ':':'|/.-'
        `-./`. .-=-. .-=-. .`\.-`
          /=- /     |     \ -=\
         ;   |      |      |   ;
         |=-.|______|______|.-=|
         |==  \  0 /_\ 0  /  ==|
         |=   /'---( )---'\   =|
          \   \:   .'.   :/   /
           `\= '--`   `--' =/'
           |"`-=._     _.=-'"|
           |   "-_ ___ _-"   |
           | _----(  \)----" |
           |    _-"""""-_    |
           |__-"         "-__|

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
 
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours - can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, -
We will part, we will fly to - unite it again!
 
Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!
Forgive me, adored one! - forsake if thou wilt;
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,
And man shall not break it - whatever thou may'st.
 
And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
This soul in its bitterest blackness shall be;
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee at my side, than with worlds at our feet.
 
One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove.
And the heartless may wonder at all I resign -
Thy lips shall reply, not to them, but to mine.
Lord Byron