Controversy Within

What has made my feelings change? I never thought of her this way We were never more than friends For years, I saw her everyday.
I never thought her beautiful But right now in life I do. Never thinking this would happen I hope my feelings aren't true.
The last thing that I want Is to lose her as a friend But with the telling of this news We will surely be at an end.
The way I act around her now Is different than what it was Hopefully she can't see my feelings But by her looks I know she does.
Maybe I should tell her right now I'm only afraid her friendship I'll lose In a battle with my own feelings And I don't know what to chose.

Copyright© 1997

---

Not poetry, but I like it more than my poetry

I find myself walking aimlessly down a path not knowing how I've gotton there, or where I am going. Seeming as though I had stepped onto someone else's life for just a moment. Even though everythin around the path is foreign, it seems almost farmilliar. The trees, which have shed the majority of their leaves for the season, as well as the small stream which runs adjacent to the old, weatherbeaten path. The sky has no clouds, but wait, the faintest wisp of one there, in the west. The west, the direction of the seting sun. The sun has begun it's daily descent below the horizon, relinquishing it's peaceful grasp to that of the night. Night, dark, ominous, where all that is evil resides. Nothing good can come from it's being. Perhaps, yes! Dreams. What in life is more important than the nightly slumber. All of the mysteries of life are in dreams, as well as the answers to those mysteries, if one is willing to venture into the darkest reaches of ones own being, their own self. Oh, but look I've lost sight of the topic again. I am still walking on this path, to I know not where. Now the blanket of darkness has spread, and all that was once beautiful is no more. Simply because something can not be seen doesn't make it any less beautiful, does it? But if you can't see the beauty, is it there? There is something reappearing in my memory. I can't see it, but I know it's there. It's beautiful, if only I can sense it's presence. I think I can recall what it is. Yes, it is a person. A woman. A woman of great beauty. I remember her now, her name is...
Copyright© 1997

---

Here is something along the same lines as the previous one

Except, it differs after a time

The moment was a bittersweet one. Archaick was returning home from battle, but all of his dear friends had met thair fate the hands of the enemy. He wasn't looking forward to the kingdom of Myr; there was nothing there which he wanted. There was nothing for him anymore. Archaick was following a farmiliar path on his way home, a path which he had walked many times with his friends in times of peace. Now there were no friends for him to walk this path, and there was no peace on the island of Dergon. The crunch of snow underfoot was the only thing Archaick could hear as he neared his destination. There it was, appearing over a small hill in the distance;Myr. Like an island waiting his arrival in this sea of alabaster. A haven where he could eat, sleep, and warm his frigid body. With a slight gesture the guard inside the front gate bade him into the walled structure. Just before Archaick entered he took not of the mote, frozen solid. "Good sir, you look as you could use a good drink of my best ale," said the barkeep just as Archaick closed the door. "Perhaps, alright," aswered Archaick, who really didn't care. He just wanted to sit near the fire, and rest. When Archaick looked to the fire he saw two people already sitting there, and it was the only table close to the fire. So he just walked up and took the third seat at the table. As Archaick drink arrived he acknowledged the others with only a nod. They didn't seen bothered by his presence. The other two people weren't talking, and only one of them was drinking anything. The one who was drinking was a woman, who was clad in a long flowing white robe. She had long hair, a sort of silvery brown that glimmered in the firelight. Even though the robe hid her physical features she appeared quite slim, and she had a face which portrayed peace. The other sitting at the table was a man. Or appeared to be by his build, because he was wearing a grey cloak, with it's hood hiding his face. The man just sat there, and did nothing to indicate he was even conscious.

There's supposed to be seperate paragraphs...

Copyright© 1997

---

My favorite poem

LEISURE

By: W.H. Davies

What is this life, if full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait until her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.

---

Some Shakespeare?

My favorite piece ever written by him

To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.--Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd. Hamlet

Prologue to Romeo and Juliet

Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whole misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

I just think this is cool...

My Favorite Shakespearian Love Sonnet

Sonnet 55

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn: The living record of your memory. 'Gainst death, and all-oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth, your praise shall still find room, Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom. So till the judgment that your self arise, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

Hello, I'm Gandalf(marshall burden).

Well, you may wonder what type of person wrote that stuff you just read. Perhaps I will indulge myself and tell you about me. I live in Wisconsin, near some small towns. Green bay is thirty minutes to my north, if I drive the speed limit that is.I am 18 years old and male, like sports, writing, and sometimes reading. I have been known to play on the internet, but you should have assumed that already. I, unlike many others, try not to judge people until they prove to me they would like me to dislike them. I try to keep an openmind, unless that is, I don't want to. Some people call me stubborn, and I can understand that. I'm currently enthralled in the search for the perfect woman. If you perhaps know any of them who might be nieve enough to believe they are that woman, please relay this message to her. No, honestly I would like a girlfriend, but can't seem to get a second glance. I have certain viewpoints that I won't change, and some people might not agree with, but that's me. I'll try to add more poetry as soon as I get some inspiration, help is needed. Thanks.

Divine Poetry
Back to the Palicade