All I can do
Is sit alone in my room
Thinking of you
How could this be you are not here with me
When I gave you the best of me
I face each day without a smile
And life seems so unfair
I feel like I want to die
Cause you didn’t give me a last good-bye
I’ve waited weeks for your call
I’ve waited here by the phone
But when the silence grew long
I knew something was wrong
Right then I knew it
How could you do it, tear my heart in two
There is no more blue in my sky
Only cloudy mornings
And these tears like rain you left behind
All of those memories in the corners of my mind
I start looking at us
At a picture of us in a frame
And I start to cry
Cause I can’t see us apart
Oh God, can you help me with the pain I’m feeling deep down inside
Tell me it’s not true
Will I have to spend
The rest of my life without you
How can I get through this pain of losing you
(by Amberr DeCent)
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To hapless human-kind
If we could feel no pain
Of body or of mind?
Would it be for our good
If we were calloused so,
And God in mercy should
End all our woe?
I wonder and I doubt:
It is my bright belief
We should be poor without
The gift of grief.
For suffering may be
A blessing, not a bane,
And though we sorrow we
Should praise for Pain.
Aye, it’s my brave belief
That grateful we should be,
Since in the heart of grief
Is love and sympathy,
We do not weep in vain,
So let us kiss the rod,
And see in purging Pain
The Grace of God.
(by Robert William Service)
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My Daddy used to wallop me for every small offense:
“Its takes a hair-brush back,” said he, “to teach kids common-sense.”
And still to-day I scarce can look a hair-brush in the face.
Without I want in sympathy to pat a tender place.
For Dad declared with unction: “Spare the brush and spoil the brat.”
The dear old man! What e’er his faults he never did do that;
And though a score of years have gone since he departed hence,
I still revere his deity, The God of Common-sense.
How often I have played the ass (Man’s universal fate),
Yet always I have saved myself before it was too late;
How often tangled with a dame - you know how these things are,
Yet always had the gumption not to carry on too far;
Remembering that fancy skirts, however high they go,
Are not to be stacked up against a bunch of hard-earned dough;
And sentiment has little weight compared with pounds and pence,
According to the gospel of the God of Common-sense.
Oh blessing on that old hair-brush my Daddy used to whack
With such benign precision on the basement of my back.
Oh blessings on his wisdom, saying: “Son, don’t play the fool,
Let prudence be your counselor and reason be your rule.
Don’t get romantic notions, always act with judgment calm,
Poetical emotions ain’t in practice worth a damn/
let solid comfort be your goal, self-interest your guide. . . .”
Then just as if to emphasize, whack! whack! the brush he plied.
And so I often wonder if my luck is Providence,
or just my humble tribute to the God of Common-sense.
(by Robert William Service)
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Don’t feel sorry for me. I am a competent,
satisfied human being.
Be sorry for the others who fidget complain,
who constantly rearrange their lives like furniture.
Juggling mates and attitudes,
their confusion is constant.
And it will touch,
whoever they deal with.
Beware of them:
one of their key words is LOVE.
And beware those who,
only take instructions from their God.
For they have failed completely,
to live their own lives.
Don’t feel sorry for me,
because I am alone.
For even at the most terrible moments,
humor is my companion.
I am a dog walking backwards,
I am a broken banjo,
I am a telephone wire strung up in Toledo, Ohio
I am a man eating a meal,
this night in the month of September.
Put your sympathy aside.
they say
water held up Christ:
to come through
you better be nearly as lucky.
(by Charles Bukowski)
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