Crazy Loneliness Hijacks Memory Of A Bea.. by Dónall Dempsey
Crazy Loneliness Hijacks Memory of a Beautiful GirlLast nightI missed you so muchI made love toyour nightdress... passionately.Now your nightdresshides from meslinks under covers and pil
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Crazy Loneliness Hijacks Memory of a Beautiful GirlLast nightI missed you so muchI made love toyour nightdress... passionately.Now your nightdresshides from meslinks under covers and pil
Told myself today was gonna be the day No more excuses~~I knew just what to sayBattin' my eyes, I know what to play Ah damn, I let the moment slip awayRackin' my brain~~goin' insane Contempl
As she lay dying with the radio playing softly in the background, The notes of a song so sweet tickled and triggered her memory, Number one in the charts the week she was born, Playing at her eight
It was a happening, a moment in time, some fifty years ago.I rememberthe pull on my shirt, a plaintive voicea cry for help, the revulsionthat I felt.For standing there, Iraqi girl, age clo
You are abruptly lostLike a kiteflying on raw threadsYour loss is my memoryYour face hangs in the skyAgainst the windOh! your memory! my words are far away from The metaphors that could h
Homework, said my teacher, Is to write a poem, About your fondestChildhood memoryImmediately, I began to shakeAnd within minutesA cold sweat had Come over meI had dreaded, Absolutely dreade
Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies, Made in the last promotion of the Blest;Whose palms, new pluck'd from Paradise,In spreading branches more sublimely rise,Rich with immortal green abov
I speak to you easily, shadowy figure in my mmeory, reliving all your picaresque adventurespulled out as from a volume on a shelf, dazzled by all the color and the drama, each episode pulling Li
Oh Britain! dear Isle, when the annals of story Shall tell of the deeds that thy children have done, When the strains of each poet shall sing of their glory, And the triumphs their skill and their
To finger-sponge crust crumbs of fruit meringue (Grass prickling through the blanket-tablecloth); To climb the shading oak; to roll and hang Inverted from a branch, as if a sloth; And, after dropp
So bends beneath the storm yon balmy flow'r,Whose spicy blossoms once perfum'd the gale;So press'd with tears reclines yon lily pale,Obedient to the rude and beating show'r. Still is the LARK, th
Circa 1904 -- Done out of Boethius by Geoffrey ChaucerBlessed was our first age and morning-time. Then were nowaies tarren, ne no cars numberen, but each followed his owneplaying-busyness