Who has the best poetic taste?
Debate Rounds (5)
Just be ready, 'cause here comes the battle...
Here is a poem by Pablo Neruda:
And Because Love Battles
And because love battles
not only in its burning agricultures
but also in the mouth of men and women,
I will finish off by taking the path away
to those who between my chest and your fragrance
want to interpose their obscure plant.
About me, nothing worse
they will tell you, my love,
than what I told you.
I lived in the prairies
before I got to know you
and I did not wait love but I was
laying in wait for and I jumped on the rose.
What more can they tell you?
I am neither good nor bad but a man,
and they will then associate the danger
of my life, which you know
and which with your passion you shared.
And good, this danger
is danger of love, of complete love
for all life,
for all lives,
and if this love brings us
the death and the prisons,
I am sure that your big eyes,
as when I kiss them,
will then close with pride,
into double pride, love,
with your pride and my pride.
But to my ears they will come before
to wear down the tour
of the sweet and hard love which binds us,
and they will say: "The one
is not a woman for you,
Why do you love her? I think
you could find one more beautiful,
more serious, more deep,
more other, you understand me, look how she"s light,
and what a head she has,
and look at how she dresses,
and etcetera and etcetera".
And I in these lines say:
Like this I want you, love,
love, Like this I love you,
as you dress
and how your hair lifts up
and how your mouth smiles,
light as the water
of the spring upon the pure stones,
Like this I love you, beloved.
To bread I do not ask to teach me
but only not to lack during every day of life.
I don"t know anything about light, from where
it comes nor where it goes,
I only want the light to light up,
I do not ask to the night
I wait for it and it envelops me,
And so you, bread and light
And shadow are.
You came to my life
with what you were bringing,
of light and bread and shadow I expected you,
and Like this I need you,
Like this I love you,
and to those who want to hear tomorrow
that which I will not tell them, let them read it here,
and let them back off today because it is early
for these arguments.
Tomorrow we will only give them
a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf
which will fall on the earth
like if it had been made by our lips
like a kiss which falls
from our invincible heights
to show the fire and the tenderness
of a true love.
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love"
I and my Annabel Lee"
With a love that the wing"d seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me"
Yes!"that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we"
Of many far wiser than we"
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling"my darling"my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea"
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
We now move on to war,
The participants are the rich and the poor.
You don't have to go in alone,
Heads high as we march into the warzone.
"What I"ve Done"
War is a long, hard road
Many have traveled it, but few come home
The sound of gunfire in the air
I"ll admit, I"m always scared
I wake up from the same dream
Where everyone is dead, all "cause of me
I have killed and I have destroyed
The war may have been won on the paper
But it will never be over in my mind
Pain and suffering is what is caused by these frenzies
These politicians are so dang crazy
Will peace ever come?
If it does, there will be one reason
It will be "cause we are no longer around
What have I done
With the thing the call a gun
I have killed
I have seen the blood they spilled
Why do I fight this fight that I do not support
I"m bringing upon myself all this hurt.
I"ll tell you what I"ve done
I"m the monster that people call a soldier
I fought that war on your land and won
But the war in my head will never be done...
My opinion on war.
Innocent lives burnt,
But their souls knock on heaven's door.
Here is Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen.
Dulce Et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori is translated to "It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country."
Into the Oblivion I venture,
It seems death is only a cure...
"The Death Of Something" By: Magdalena (No last name known)
In the slight breeze
against my misconception
lies purposeful and steadfast
to my closed eyes
leave my hands empty
into my world of safety
I embrace my emptiness
and my internal bleeding
of my unrealistic dream
my patience grew weary
against the punishing rain
obsolete and outworn
I fell hard in his cold
pass" to his requirements
now thrown away
ebb far out of my reach
ink cries black tears
onto pale parchment
in endless reflection
realising biting mistakes
slapping with each word
so I take a step back
plucking the splinters
from my fingers
each one dripping salt
into the graveyard
of torn memories
under the blackness
of the ocean
attempting to drag me
into its deep dark pit
licking the face
of my irresolute
I hold onto the edge
of what is left of my will
crash against my bruised flesh
attacking every stronghold
with their determination
lapping at the tears
that flow from every pore
of what gave me so much warmth
Shall we reach the other side?
Stick around, you may be surprised!
Spirits of the dead by Edgar Allan Poe
Spirits Of The Dead
Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.
The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.
The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
~Edgar Allan Poe
to what we should have none to fear,
'tis the end, I see the light,
'tis not over yet, none have won this fight!
by Robert L. Stevenson
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me;
"Here he lies where he longed to be,
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill."
I really hate how that sounds.
For the finale i present a piece of my own,
As in depression one feels alone.
So hard I've tried to be,
Everything that was expected of me.
It no longer i can do,
I can not full those shoes.
The same person I am not,
Because of all the battles I've fought.
It scarred me, broke me,
And most of all killed me.
I am not who i used to be ,
Because of the things that's happened to me.
I tried so hard yes i did,
But my happiness was then forbidded.
No longer happy could I ever be,
Happiness was just not for me.
Cause sadness and sorrow,
They fill my soul.
I know it but it's never been told,
As i'm waiting for today to unfold.
Inside my soul, it is cold.
Dark is my mind,
To save me , there's no time
Because i'm too far gone.
Day is fading into night,
Broken and destroyed is my desire of flight.
I would like to thank wildcat101 for the opportunity for this debate :D
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