Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves – The Ballad Of Reading Gaol.
Connected with Wimax 4g…
Hmm Finally subscribed to wimax 4g internet , past couple of weeks without internet i was totally out of this world even though i used to login from my mobile thats not for so long…
So here i’m reading all the blog post of my friends which is marked unread in google reader & replying to offline messages, guess it wil take another 2 hours to complete it…lemme continue …
Imagination…
Locked in my cage, I stare at the emptiness;
this very emptiness possesses my soul -
we are one.
The months pass, as do the years,
yet as time progresses, it loses all relevance.
I sit here trapped in a recurring nightmare, never to awaken.
I feed on my own self-pity -
I never hunger. I merely exist,
captive in this asylum, biding my time;
my sole gratification, inebriated isolation.
The door to my cage is ajar, as is often the case,
yet it’s pointless to leave;
each journey leads me back
to this God-forsaken realm of suffering and despair.
Long ago, I was free;
I remember faces, smiling faces.
A different me, in a different time -
it was a time of fulfillment, of togetherness, of love.
Then one day the fantasy ended, and I was here . . .
but enough about the past; I must face my reality.
Distant voices race through my head,
as I stave off insanity.
But this time, the voice is real.
Unsure of its origin, I feel my soul is not as cold; my burden lighter.
Though I smile, I soon shiver in frustration.
Tears stream down my cheeks,
as I cannot deny that the other voice is my own,
as my rationality succumbs to my imagination.
~unkown author…
