Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent Poems - Poems about Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent

In this, the death-prone winter of our discontent, the world lay languishing from mitotic chaos and malignant uncertainty---spreading a pandemic cancer of destruction over the body of our moral humanity. Infected rebirth cells of ancient crusade history scatter world wide---blown like dry leaves in chilling winds of cold war seasons. Here, in the frozen season of time, Armageddon stalks democracy in the chilled...

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Autumn chilly days will soon be over, There will be no bees over the clover. The last vermillion leaves some red some gold The breeze blows and my heart is much too cold. I walk aimlessly in an unknown path, My heart is like a sea with ugly waves. How dare she, aloof. look away from me? Has she forgotten those lambent...

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Now is the winter of our discontent, For our sins, we shall repent. Not a soul can escape this torment, Slowly turning us all senescent. The cold wind in the east thus blows, Falling are the petals of that frosty rose. Our hearts have come to froze, As we try to cast our minds to our woes. Harm is the reminiscence of summer, When...

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“Arise, oh hermit! Schumann‘s resonance is rising! In silence and stillness, feel within bliss pulsating!” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ If now be winter of our discontent, it signals darkness will soon yield to light, attention internalised, thus content, fear of death transmuted to bliss delight, reverberating within day and night. This affirmation, not a prophesy, rather, a here and now reality, cognised no sooner we enter silence, imbibing bliss...

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When it comes to politics, as in nature…as in life…we would be a fool to think every question has a simple answer… to think here are no exceptions to a rule. Look at all the issues facing us today…each side knows the other’s way of thinking is medieval Each side knows they are right and they are good…and...

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I'm discontent that you just went. You did not think to say good-bye. You were intent — you had to die. You could have asked if it was time. You could have stopped and changed your mind. You might have seen that life was fine, but you were not the waiting kind. You had to leave — the bags were packed. The dice...

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Grey skies Go by reflected By the coldness in my eyes. What I said is what I meant Now here in the Winter Of my discontent. Time dies Dissolving as the ice wind cries My words are what I now lament Here in the Winter Of my discontent. There are things I say That sound to me like someone else At times like these. I don't know...

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fall’s foliage wingless man too longs for a southland - future mist defined Brian Johnston December 19, 2015...

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WEATHERING THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT In this, the death prone winter of our discontent, the world lay languishing from mitotic chaos and malignant uncertainty---spreading a pandemic cancer of destruction over the body of our moral humanity. Infected rebirth cells of ancient crusade history scatter world wide---blown like dry leaves in chilling winds of cold war seasons. Here, in the frozen season...

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Now is the winter of our discontent We are buried amongst our ancestors to lament Yet in life we have everything but do not use it to our full extent When young we play as we should in this world always content You grow learning that meaning outweighs what we think we have learnt We throw away the best of...

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The gelid wind is a knife, ice to bone As Demeter decries Persephone's moan I too shed a tear, crystalline nature In the pallid winter of my discontent. Downy flakes fly in my woods, this glacier melts slowly, apart from everyone ashore I die a little more each day I bore Holes, In this winter of my discontent. No ode to my urn...

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