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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as...

Three times I had the lust to kill,
To clutch a throat so young and fair,
And squeeze with all my might until
No breath of being lingered there.
Three times I drove the demon out,
Though on my brow was evil sweat. . . .
And...

I wear a mask to hold in place
A painted smile upon my face;
But underneath this outer shell,
Lies hidden deep an inner hell
Each whispered word- a silent plea,
Yet no one sees the ghost in me.
My head is filled with...

There are memories I planted
deep enough to forget,
but they sprout anyway,
breaking through the soil of silence.
Some grow thorns,
some bloom softly,
some rise like weeds
I wish I never watered.
But all of them...

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

Isn’t it amazing,
That a burgeoning rose,
Or a magical sunset
Or a sweet song’s tune,
Or a full moon’s splendor –
Just the thought of sheer beauty:
Takes each of use –
With the certainty of a compass –
To just one...

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as...

Only blood could wash away sin,
And so we put on altars, the blood of beasts.
Only blood could wash away sin,
And yet this blood was never fit.
Only blood could wash away sin,
And so He gave us His only kin.
Only His blood...

What days are these?
Where the gods walk amongst us
Is it a shame to them
Or vain glory to us
When they muddle themselves
The trivialities of mere mortals!

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold...

I guess you think you know this story.
You don't. The real one's much more gory.
The phoney one, the one you know,
Was cooked up years and years ago,
And made to sound all soft and sappy
just to keep the children...