Projwall

just published my 16th Poem
          	do check it out
          	:)

Projwall

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
          I all alone beweep my outcast state,
          And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
          And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
          Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
          Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
          Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
          With what I most enjoy contented least;
          Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
          Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
          Like to the lark at break of day arising
          From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
            For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
            That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

-Haco-

Did you write that? I love it!
Reply

Projwall

We all, have our battles
          
          some have to fight more than others
          while few seemed blessed and win often
          
          cursed I am, some may think
          as misfortunes befall one after another
          
          some look at their blessings
          and endure the tribulation
          
          some may fight a losing battle
          but those who don't fight are soon forgotten
          
          Our battles seem hard but all must struggle
          Neither you nor I know know each other trials
          
          Life as you know is an endless struggle

Projwall

Sonnet XVII Shakespeare
          
          Who will believe my verse in time to come,
          If it were filled with your most high deserts?
          Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
          Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
          If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
          And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
          The age to come would say 'This poet lies;
          Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.'
          So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
          Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
          And your true rights be termed a poet's rage
          And stretched metre of an antique song:
             But were some child of yours alive that time,
             You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme.

Projwall

Erik Lensherr: Who are you? 
          Apocalypse: Elohim, Pushan, Ra - I've been called many names over many lifetimes. I am born of death. I was there to spark and fan the flame of man's awakening, to spin the wheel of civilization. And when the forest would grow rank and needed clearing for new growth, I was there to set it ablaze. 
          
          Apocalypse: You are all my children, and you're lost because you follow blind leaders. These false gods, systems of the weak, they've ruined my world. No more. 
          
          Apocalypse: Everything they've built will fall! And from the ashes of their world, we'll build a better one! 
          Apocalypse: Together we will cleanse the earth for the strongest.