Dead Poets Sunday

The Tiger

Tiger, tiger burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when, thy heart begin to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dead grasp
Dare it's deadly grasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
ANd watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see/
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry.

-William Blake

Evanescence

Out of the black clouds a lightning
flash-- and lo!
Clear stands the rice field, lined with
sheaves of grain
Then the swift darkness swallows it
again
Our life is even so.

-Minamoto No Shitago

**11*09**

drastic

It's amazing. (and pretty scary too), what a broken heart can do to change a person. at least from my own point of view. It turned me into a malt junkie, an evil clown, transformed me into Gandhi, mutated me into a bat. made me a new tech junkie, and a lover of HTML code.
And I found solace from one of my own biggest frustrations: WRITING.
Never a night goes by that I don't force myself to sleep, sometimes I have to submit to Saint Michael's call and grab a bottle of beer.And even if I manage to get some sleep Daytime comes and steals me from slumber land. I've grown an almost inseparable attachment to my PC and now its seems like the only important possession I have except for the bracelet, the jacket and the things she gave me of course.
It won't take long till this throbbing and pulsating pain renders me faithless again...
I need help...
real bad.

Rain fell at 4:15 pm