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Favorite Poem!


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So we have a "Favorite Poet" thread, but not a favorite poem!

I know this is tough, so just pick your favorite for now. If that's too hard, try picking the top three. :)
If that's too hard, then... well. Pick however many you want.

I think my favorite poems are:
"Us Two" by A.A. Milne
"Stairs" by A.A. Milne
"There is a Lady Sweet and Kind" by Anonymous.
I will keep coming back and adding more;

To This Day ~ Shane Koyczan
I am so full of feelings
I can easily believe
I must be sentimental.
But when I mull this over,
I see it's all in thought,
I felt nothing whatever.

All of us alive spend
One life living it,
Another, thinking it,
And the only life we have
Is split between
The true one and the false.

But which is true
And which is false
No one can explain.
And as we go on living,
The life we spend's the one
That's doomed to thinking.

- Fernando Pessoa
Suicide in the Trenches by Siegfried Sassoon.

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.
I like the shortest poem ever written.

It is called :

I found one I'm now addicted to.


When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end
The goddess descends from the sky
Wings of light and dark spread afar
She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting

Act I

Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess
We seek it thus, and take to the sky
Ripples form on the water's surface
The wandering soul knows no rest.

Act II

There is no hate, only joy
For you are beloved by the goddess
Hero of the dawn, Healer of worlds
Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul
Pride is lost
Wings stripped away, the end is nigh


My friend, do you fly away now?
To a world that abhors you and I?
All that awaits you is a somber morrow
No matter where the winds may blow
My friend, your desire
Is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess
Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return

Act IV

My friend, the fates are cruel
There are no dreams, no honor remains
The arrow has left the bow of the goddess
My soul, corrupted by vengeance
Hath endured torment, to find the end of the journey
In my own salvation
And your eternal slumber
Legend shall speak
Of sacrifice at world's end
The wind sails over the water's surface
Quietly, but surely

Act V

Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
To become the dew that quenches the land
To spare the sands, the seas, the skies
I offer thee this silent sacrifice
The Raven - Edgar Allan Poe (of course).
London - William Blake.
The Darkling Thrush - Thomas Hardy

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter?s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land?s sharp features seemed to be
The Century?s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited ;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.