Try to give up what weighs
What weighs you down The only control you have Is all your own
Do I fit the pieces
Together again
Or do I leave them lying on the floor?
¶Posted 05 października 2021†admin§mus‡Możliwość komentowania Do I fit the pieces została wyłączona°
Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless Dearest the shadows I live with are numberless Little white flowers will never awaken you Not where black coaches of sorrow has taken you Angels have no thought of never returning you Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?
Gloomy Sunday
Gloomy is Sunday, darkness I spend it all My heart and I have decided to end it all Soon there’ll be flowers and prayers that are sad I know Don’t let them weep let them know that I’m glad to go Death is no dream for in death I’m caressing you With the last beat of my heart I’ll be blessing you
¶Posted 09 lutego 2021†admin§mus § Uncategorized‡Możliwość komentowania Dearest the shadows I live with are numberless została wyłączona°
And were I, then, a single seed of all the millions in the field, You, a gentle raindrop from the sky, And as you fall upon my breast and Waken me from my long rest, In that moment, by the old gods blessed, Oh, you and I, truly one.
And were you, then, the last wild leaf on an autumn bough, I, the wind, a wanton thief, blow as I blow now, And if you’d fall as fall you must, And I to be the waiting dust, Free from sorrow, pain, or lust, And lie, forever, truly one.
¶Posted 21 sierpnia 2020†admin§quo‡Możliwość komentowania Waken me from my long rest została wyłączona°
“Nic nam nie robisz – masz prawo wybierać, możesz nam pomóc, możesz nas wybawić lub czekać dalej i śmierci zostawić… śmierć nie jest straszna, umiemy umierać. Ale wiedz o tym, że z naszej mogiły Nowa się Polska – zwycięska narodzi. I po tej ziemi ty nie będziesz chodzić czerwony władco rozbestwionej siły.”
¶Posted 06 sierpnia 2020†admin§quo‡Możliwość komentowania umiemy umierać została wyłączona°
104 years ago today in 1916, Captain Charles May writes a letter to his wife Bessie two weeks before being sent to his death on July 1st in the Battle of the Somme.
“I must not allow myself to dwell on the personal – there is no room for it here. Also it is demoralising. But I do not want to die. Not that I mind for myself. If it be that I am to go, I am ready. But the thought that I may never see you or our darling baby again turns my bowels to water. I cannot think of it with even the semblance of equanimity.
My one consolation is the happiness that has been ours. Also my conscience is clear that I have always tried to make life a joy for you. I know at least that if I go you will not want. This is something. But it is the thought that we may be cut off from one another which is so terrible and that our babe may grow up without my knowing her and without her knowing me. It is difficult to face. And I know your life without me would be a dull blank. You must never let it become wholly so. For to you will be left the greatest charge in all the world; the upbringing of our baby.
God bless that child, she is the hope of life to me. My darling, au revoir. It may well be that you will only have to read these lines as ones of passing interest. On the other hand, they may well be my last message to you. If they are, know through all your life that I loved you and baby with all my heart and soul, that you two sweet things were just all the world to me. I pray God I may do my duty, for I know, whatever that may entail, you would not have it otherwise.”
¶Posted 18 czerwca 2020†admin§quo‡Możliwość komentowania bowels to water została wyłączona°
