Trust Me With Your Heart

by Kathleen Sheppard

Why does your heart grow doubtful dear?
Tense and beating, full of fear.
I keep with me your everlasting love,
and bless the day God sent you from above.

You remain my angel and I feel that I must,
tell you that within you, you have my trust.
My love is the tide, your soul is the shores,
you have my heart, do I have yours?

I'll belong to you till the very end,
and you will forever stay as my lover and friend.
It has been so good like this from the start,
so darling please, trust me with your heart.

The Amazing Paintings : Beautiful Paintings by Vladimir Kush

Homeless Reader - 2006 - Black & White Photography

Located in Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine. The profoundly powerful image of an New York homeless individual using plastic garbage bags to keep warm, while reading 'The Independent'. A stark reminder that while the country spends billions on the Iraq war there are Americans that lack the base essentials of food and clothing.

The Bells

by Edgar Allan Poe

I
Hear the sledges with the bellsSilver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes, And an in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III
Hear the loud alarum bells
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now - now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging, And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows:
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling, And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells
Of the bells
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells, Bells, bells, bells
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

IV
Hear the tolling of the bells
Iron Bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people - ah, the people
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All Alone And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone
They are neither man nor woman
They are neither brute nor human
They are Ghouls: And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bellsOf the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells
Of the bells, bells, bells
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells
Of the bells, bells, bells:
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells
Bells, bells, bells
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Some Type of Painting....

"Waiting For Love"
(Impressionist Painting)

"My Kind of Tunes"

(Cubist Painting)

"Born Once Again"

(Abstract Painting)

Art Picture (Posters).....

Seven Ages Of Man

by William Shakespeare

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits and entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face,
creeping like snailUnwillingly to school.
And then the lover,Sighing like furnace,
with a woeful balladMade to his mistress' eyebrow.
Then a soldier,Full of strange oaths,
and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden,
and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth.
And then the justiceIn fair round belly,
with good capon lin'd,With eyes severe,
and beard of formal cut,Full of wise saws,
and modern instances,
And so he plays his part.