And now, for some poetry...

Rest
by: Christina Rosetti (1830-1894)

O earth, lie heavily upon her eyes;
Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth;
Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth
With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs.
She hath no questions, she hath no replies,
Hushed in and curtained with a blessed dearth
Of all that irked her from the hour of birth;
With stillness that is almost Paradise.
Darkness more clear than noonday holdeth her,
Silence more musical than any song;
Even her very heart has ceased to stir:
Until the morning of Eternity
Her rest shall not begin nor end, but be;
And when she wakes she will not think it long.


Whirwind
by Eligh (1980-present)

The wind blows, and so my pen flows;
Fingers tense around the plastic curling at my ten toes;
Intensity is rising in my brain like a train wreck,
I wrestle with the feelings in my heart I can't explain yet,
Never had a love like this before,
In love with her lips seeing her face when I open up the door, when I drop my shit and give her all I got, me amore, deserving of someone special in her life who gives a damn I'll be that man till the end of time I'm not afraid;
Keep wiping away that shade to bring that light behind her eyes,
Attracted like matches of flint rock when it catches hard to get apart like the jaws of a pit stop and listen to the angels sing to you,
Amplified by I,
Harmonizing, my deep is true, colonizing a love so true theres nothing I won't do for you, sweet soul and a dream come true, but both of us got work to do,
A million miles of love inside you I can see it when your smilin',
Put it on me, I'm all in, when you call me I'm beside you nightmares get replaced by fantasy,
All I care about is that you stay around and dance with me,
Slow dancin' romancin' hold hands but don't hold your breath, cause I won't disappear from here I got your back until death,
Sweet whirl wind surround us, but noone can define us, your my highness, the blanket to my Linus, and I promise, no lies, I'm yours,
Your scent is in my pores in the whirl wind...

'When I Do Count the Clock That Tells the Time'
by: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,
Born on the bier all white and bristly beard;
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.