joi, 11 noiembrie 2010


My hands are bound behind my back
I can't control my fear, my tears
I see your pain, I see you suffer
I see you leaving, I see you dying
You see this ashes, falling from the sky?
Is actually my weakly soul, which left this poor earth in a rainy day.
My mind, my spirit, my body
My everything
... is dry.

marți, 9 noiembrie 2010

SONNET 116, William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.