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Heading South.
Going bad.
Your the best
Thing I've had.

It's not too late,
I'll tell you so,
But it is hate,
Stealing the show.

Not hate for you
For this I know.
It is for fate,
Which takes your Soul.

There is no cure
For this terrible plight,
But it helps not
Through the dark night.

What can I do
To keep you now?
Bringing back the joy
For loving you.

My Father​

Posted by Calob Posted on 06/21/2020 at 01:29PM Poetry Public Interest See more by Calob

Your life was short
And you left me early
One day you were here
The next day you were gone
And life was never the same

Perhaps you thought
I would not remember
Lessons you taught me
About right and wrong
About love and respect

But I remember them all
Like it happened yesterday
They helped define me
And will be with me always
In my heart, right next to you

Your avatar
MFish • 06/22/2020 at 10:38PM • Like 2 Profile

Nicely done. A good memory.

When I loved myself enough: 
I quit settling for too little.
I came to know my own goodness.
I began taking the gift of life seriously and gratefully.
I began to know I was in the right place at the right time and I could relax.
I felt compelled to slow down way down. And that has made all the difference.
I came to love being alone, surrounded by silence awed by its spell, listening to inner space.................

Poster's Note: These are selected Stanzas from Kim McMillen's book "When I Loved Myself Enough”  -  Published posthumously in English by her daughter Alison McMillen. The beautiful short writing underwent a couple of language translations by others and much of her writing has over time been copied, changed, and miss-attributed on the Internet to Charlie Chaplin. In addition to the numerous websites that reproduced this poem in full, while attributing it to Chaplin, parts of her poem have also been used to create share-worthy memes featuring the famous actor’s image. The book is still available in print and electronic form 

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas (1914 - 1953) Welsh poet and writer. Photo from findagrave.com - added by Willism Bjornstad

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