"MY THOUGHTS"

I had a thought just last night ,

Now the moment just feels right !
You know by now how I must feel ,
Deep down you know that it's real !
What I want now is you more and more !
It's true I've never wanted anyone this much before !
You know I'm always willing and ready !
Is your heart ready to have me steady ?
There's a fire in my heart that burns so bright !
I need to confess how I truly feel tonight ,
I believe that I have loved you all along !
These feelings of mine are truly strong !
You know there is alot that I can say ,
You know by now I'm not going away !
I don't deny these feelings for you to myself ,
I won't bottle them up and throw'em on a shelf !
If you care about me you'll hold me if I need to cry !
If you care about me you'll be willing to give me a try !
And I will stay ,be faithful and only want you !
My Sweetheart my Love for you will always be true !
You can make your lust for me go away !
But for me (I hope) will you please stay !
If you say no , then I guess I will know ,
That you don't feel the same , but I won't go !
I will wait for you , you will see ,
For you to fall in Love with me !
In the mean time I will love you and I'll give you
everything I have to give ,
Because without you in my life I don't know how I
would live !
So now I am opening my heart and giving you the key
!
I will always be gentle even when you start loving me !



The Hardest Part of Work
Evan

The hardest part of work,
is to pretend youre working hard.
You can only stack so many papers,
or shuffle so many business cards.
In one tab youll have your email.
And the other youll have your shows.
And you can switch between them so quickly
Your boss hardly knows.
Hulu shows the Office,
Youtube has dancing Dogs.
Amazon sells lots of books,
On Ebay you bought some Pogs.
An online game of Scrabble
Makes you think of many words.
But when nature calls you leave,
And beat angry birds.
But once you tire of Facebook,
And youve written too many Tweets.
Youll stroll down to the breakroom,
And help yourself to treats.
And if there is a co worker,
with semi-engaging news
Youll only stop and gossip,
for at least an hour or two.
Other times youll play ping pong,
your favorite company perk.
Its amazing what you get done.
when you come to work.



The Buried Life
b y Ma t t h e w A r n o l d
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet!
I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll.
Yes, yes, we know that we can jest,
We know, we know that we can smile!
But there's a something in this breast,
To which thy light words bring no rest,
And thy gay smiles no anodyne.
Give me thy hand, and hush awhile,
And turn those limpid eyes on mine,
And let me read there, love! thy inmost soul.
Alas! is even love too weak
To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?
I knew the mass of men conceal'd
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal'd
They would by other men be met
With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
I knew they lived and moved
Trick'd in disguises, alien to the rest
Of men, and alien to themselves--and yet
The same heart beats in every human breast!
But we, my love!--doth a like spell benumb
Our hearts, our voices?--must we too be dumb?
Ah! well for us, if even we,
Even for a moment, can get free
Our heart, and have our lips unchain'd;
For that which seals them hath been deep-ordain'd!
Fate, which foresaw
How frivolous a baby man would be--
By what distractions he would be possess'd,
How he would pour himself in every strife,
And well-nigh change his own identity--
That it might keep from his capricious play
His genuine self, and force him to obey
Even in his own despite his being's law,
Bade through the deep recesses of our breast
The unregarded river of our life
Pursue with indiscernible flow its way;
And that we should not see
The buried stream, and seem to be
Eddying at large in blind uncertainty,
Though driving on with it eternally.
But often, in the world's most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us--to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
And many a man in his own breast then delves,
But deep enough, alas! none ever mines.
And we have been on many thousand lines,
And we have shown, on each, spirit and power;
But hardly have we, for one little hour,
Been on our own line, have we been ourselves--
Hardly had skill to utter one of all
The nameless feelings that course through our breast,
But they course on for ever unexpress'd.
And long we try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self, and what we say and do
Is eloquent, is well--but 't#is not true!
And then we will no more be rack'd
With inward striving, and demand
Of all the thousand nothings of the hour
Their stupefying power;
Ah yes, and they benumb us at our call!
Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn,
From the soul's subterranean depth upborne
As from an infinitely distant land,
Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey
A melancholy into all our day.
Only--but this is rare--
When a belov{'e}d hand is laid in ours,
When, jaded with the rush and glare
Of the interminable hours,
Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear,
When our world-deafen'd ear
Is by the tones of a loved voice caress'd--
A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,
And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.
The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we
know.
A man becomes aware of his life's flow,
And hears its winding murmur; and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.
And there arrives a lull in the hot race
Wherein he doth for ever chase
That flying and elusive shadow, rest.
An air of coolness plays upon his face,
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose,
And the sea where it goes