My-Private.Info

Who said that love was fire?
I know that love is ash.
It is the thing which remains
When the fire is spent,
The holy essence of experience.
~ by Patience Worth

Last night I slept, and when I woke her kiss
Still floated on my lips. For we had strayed
Together in my dream, through some dim glade,
Where the shy moonbeams scarce dared light our bliss.
The air was dank with dew, between the trees,
The hidden glow-worms kindled and were spent.
Cheek pressed to cheek, the cool, the hot night-breeze
Mingled ouir hair, our breath, and came and went,
As sporting with our passion. Low and deep
Spake in mine ear her voice: "And didst thou dream,
This could be buried? This could be sleep?
And love be thrall to death! Nay, whatso seem,
Have faith, dear heart; this is the thing that is!"
Thereon I woke, and on my lips her kiss.

~~Emma Lazarus

Are you saying Yes
but I don't hear it?
Are you saying No
and I just fear it?
Are you saying Run
but I'm to near it?
Or am I just numb
within my spirit?

Love can’t be measured
In moonlit romance
love is the skid mark
on pure snow white pants
Love isn’t yearning
for her touch when she’s gone
love is going down there,
and finding she’s on

Love isn’t furry
or flowery and cute
love is tonguing with passion
when you know she’s just puked

Love’s got spinach on its teeth
and cheese between its toes
Love belches, love farts
And love picks its nose

Love’s fat, love’s wrinkly
Purple and blue
Love’s dimply, pimply
And rash-covered too

Love blinds with passions
And foolish ideals
Open your eyes to the worst
And you’ll know when it’s real

~ © Ant Phillips, London - 2001

Change is the instrument of time and time is the enabler and enemy of life.

Life is what happens while we are all waiting to die. Make it interesting and fill it with love.

"This you know: that the years travel fast and time after time I’ve told this story. But this is not anyone’s story; it's the story of us all, and you've got to listen to it and remember, because what you hear today you have to tell those that will come tomorrow. I’m looking behind us now, looking back into history. I see those of us that were lucky and started this journey for home and I remember how it led us here and how we were heartbroken because we’ve seen what we once were. Yet one look back and we knew that we got it right. Those that had gone before us had the knowledge and the ability to do things that are beyond our thoughts and imagination. Yet, as time moves on we know that we need to figure out how to regain these things and that is no easy task. But that is our journey. We have to travel it and there is nobody to show the way. Still, every night we tell the story so that we remember who we were and where we came from. But most of all we remember the man who found us, and came to save us, and we light the city not just for him but for all of those that are still out there, because we know there'll come a night when they see our distant light and will come home."
-Beyond Thunderdome (Paraphrased)

"Howbeit he will not stretch out his hand to the grave, though they cry in his destruction.
Did not I weep for him that was in trouble?
was not my soul grieved for the poor?
When I looked for good, then evil came unto me:
and when I waited for light, there came darkness.
My bowels boiled, and rested not:
the days of affliction prevented me.
I went mourning without the sun:
I stood up, and I cried in the congregation.
I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls.
My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat.
My harp also is turned to mourning,
and my organ into the voice of them that weep."
-The Book of Job, 30:24 - 30:31