Any poetry fans in here ?

[Fragony]

I love this one, it was made by an english soldier after his best friend died in the trenches at the Somme. It is the most powerfull thing I have ever read.

Wilfred Owen
Futility
Move him into the sun —
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds —
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved, — still warm, — too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
— O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?



especially this line, 'Was it for this the clay grew tall?' , it just screams WHY!




Sleepless

An ocean apart, several timezones away,
The sleepless nights are a small price to pay,
To see your smile and the gleam in your eye,
The one that steals all I meant to say.

Machines of bloodless plastic and chrome,
Lack the heat of skin that's found it's home.
But still we try to touch our fingertips,
To stroke the hair we'd love to comb.

When we part the smile stays upon my lips,
For unlike the sun our hearts know no eclipse,
And tho each of us alone into bed slips,
Our thoughts daily make a thousand trips.



Oh are you in for a night when you see her again.