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To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. -The Worthily Beloved William Shakespeare

Thursday, September 29, 2011

sereneeeee

Serene the waves break tenderly,
Sloshing softly on the shore,
A great nostalgia thus implored
For each one broken but before,
And yet an eager air upbeat
Seeks to with the fresh waves meet
And in their solace, glowing, greet,
The impassioned heart of life complete,
Profound its liberating beat,
Singing tranquility soft and sweet.


Unfurling from the clouds this ray
Of dawning light sinks to my flesh,
Opening my eyes like gates,
To wondrous visions blessed.

The passing of the earth before me,
Waves ebbing a waning shore,
Does pour into my heart serene
The fluid hues of light adored,
Beaming brightly as Selene,
By one golden sheen absorbed.

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