Ah!!bugger...

The bells toll as they they sing their songs, The marching band goes on. I sit atop my throne of thorns As my kingdom turns to dust. I'm losing it. Each day. Scraps worth their weight in gold, as I watch the walls fall in.

Well maybe there's a God above But all I've ever learned from love Was how to shoot somebody who'd outdrew ya  And it's not a cry that you hear at night It's not somebody who's seen the light It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah P.S. Mommy dearest: This cover does really trump 'em all.

I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, A luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night. -Robert Frost 

Ambitions. Dreams. Goals. Big words, chucked at us since childhood. "Live in the present" and "Enjoy the moments" are quotes you read about in literature but never applicable to modern society as we strive to sacrifice the present to ensure the  much dreamed of "future perfect". When we were young, these dreams were fantastical, living off childhood fascinations. To be an astronaut, a maverick pilot, a top sportsman, a top-notch scientist who discovers the perfect time travelling invention and what not. There were quite a few in my class who were hell bent on making it to NASA. Needless to say, none of them even came close. Strangely, I had none. I never wanted to become any of these. Or maybe I wanted to become all of these. Either way I was too confused to have an opinion. Then we grow up. Class 10, board exams. Everyone takes it seriously. A stepping stone to the glorious dream of a future it was after all. Again, I was bored, unsure of my prioriti...

And amidst the onrushing crowd of revelers and passerby's, he sat there, in a world of his own, surrounded by his art. Tireless fingers, stroking fresh paint over new canvas, day and night. How many he sells, I do not know. But he sits there, under the scorching sun, day after day, head bowed, a sheaf before him, pictures, screaming out words, as the world passes him by. Is this passion? Is this perseverance? Is this the will to follow a dream? Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him with a ray Turned back upon the past? -Edgar Allan Poe

*sigh* first signs of madness

Going over some of his plays, I came across this again. I'd once spent hours practising this monologue for a small skit in school. Perfecting it, till every syllable echoed Hamlet's anguish. For all his faults, I'd give him this, Shakespeare could write, like no other had ever written. Thy stage, Thy kingdom. 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 heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. 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...