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Death's Sweet Voice


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I had spluttered into life

Onto a path of bitter strife

From the darkness of a womb

Into brightness from the gloom

But life’s journey always ends

With the blackness of a tomb

 

A lost love once made me cry

I had seen my chance pass by

Death’s sweet voice entrances

She smiles as she advances

And my spirit she will cradle

She gives no second chances

 

I had flattered to deceive

I was reluctant to believe

I dug my head into the sand

I destroyed the promised land

Became the master of remorse

But still I did not understand

 

Now a resting place I crave

Far away beyond the grave

Death’s sweet voice is pleading

She’ll give me what I’m needing

And my spirit she will cradle

To stop my soul from bleeding

 

I had lived with morbid fears

Through the adolescent years

False dreams of immortality

Success a mere formality

But floundered in my apathy

With comfort zone mentality

 

But now I cease to weep

The tears no longer seep

Death’s sweet voice is calling

To free me from life’s mauling

And my spirit she will cradle

As into her arms I’m falling

 

I had seen my bridges burned

And my lessons duly learned

But I found the truth too late

And though I tried to mitigate

I faced the sabres of revenge

And the silenced guns of hate

 

Darkness closes in on day

I will soon be on my way

Death’s sweet voice is singing

Her bells of freedom ringing

And my spirit she will cradle

To soothe away life’s stinging

 

I dreamed of time beginning

The universe was spinning

But the quirks of evolution

Brought the ultimate solution

And the victims of misfortune

Were left seeking retribution

 

And so I must bid goodbye

My tears have now run dry

Death’s sweet voice is sighing

She is calm and pacifying

And my spirit she is cradling

As I’m laid here gently dying

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I shared the May prize with you

Its left me feeling blue

Owl Know not what to do

As my writing now seems tosh

Not one penny earned in dosh

And some pedlar of trite rhyme

Shares my prize held once devine

 

Oh my sleepless nights ensue

As I know not what to do

Chew the carpet - beat the wife

Have I ever known such strife

Caused by the rhyming twaddle

Of a nerd I'd glaldy throttle

Who by treat or trick

Serves up crass limerick

 

I think the point is made

Of a ryhme below the grade

That drones on and on

When even hope is gone

Of an ending to the line

And nothing writ is fine

And the meaning surely lost

Like an Easter bun is crossed

 

......... days later

I have met my alma mater

He was riding on a bus

Waiting for the terminus

The last stop heading West

Snugly warm in a string vest

Turning pages of a tome

Heading slowly back to home

 

I asked him what to do

As he departed the 22

Shocked at me waiting there

He had time to stand and stare

Come to the house man he said

We have tea and jam and bread

But I am light of appetite

But this poo-et you must smite

 

So the answer it was there

Did I really give a care

When di dee doh and da di da

Was rhymed with red and shiny star

It seems but that I can not write

When verse like this is not trite

And umpteen verses numb the brain

At least I didn't give up the day job and tell the boss where to stick it.

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Perhaps if you've nothing positive to say, you should say nothing.

 

Mate, go out, have a few pints, get laid, even if you have to pay for it. Cheer up enjoy life. Its the only one you are going to have.

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Mate, go out, have a few pints, get laid, even if you have to pay for it. Cheer up enjoy life. Its the only one you are going to have.

 

You have 2080 posts on Sheffield Forum and you're telling me to go out and get laid.

 

You recognise the irony in that, I take it.

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You have 2080 posts on Sheffield Forum and you're telling me to go out and get laid.

 

You recognise the irony in that, I take it.

 

Very good repost mate well done, I am worried about you though, Cheer up.

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Very good repost mate well done, I am worried about you though, Cheer up.

 

This is a writers' page. Must be serious. Writers capture the human emotion. Hence, no criticism. got to be positive at all times. Just like life. And the news.

 

If something is absolute crap, remember you're on luvvies wannabe page and have to luv it up. I went on a course for it; each sentence began with:

 

'Darling you were wonderful darling.' You had to say that to the guy operating the lift.

 

'Darling, it was marvellous darling. So creative and colourful. The tones, the hues.' That was for the woman who served the tea.

 

It makes the wonderful world a more wonderfuller place. Much less drab than you find in any novel nowadays.

 

I'm reading Cartland at the mo but can't get my head round the complexity of the plot: Sir Roger likes Cynthia but she is attracted to Singeant who is secregtly engaged to Mariella who has a crush on Smithers the young gardener who is the illegitimate son of Lord Farquhar-Carrutherington-Blythe and unknowingly stands to inherit the estate of his Lordship due to a typo made by Offices of Stanley, Crump and Boldswick of Old Parsnip Lane, Dorrington Chambers, Smethwick, a part of the disreputable Norrington Gardens area where his Lordship's indiscretion took place one bawdy afternoon following a gambling success up at Shearwood.

 

Darling, it's absolutely wonderful darling, the colours, the hues .........

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