You, Have, Sto-, -Len, My.. Poem?

I stole this, hehehe:

I. S. Turgenev

December 15th, 1878

"When I’m no longer there, when all that was once me will turn to ashes—you, my only friend, the one I loved so deeply, the one who will outlive me—do not visit my grave… There is nothing for you there.

Do not forget me… and do not remember me in the bustle of your pleasures, needs and worries… I do not wish to harm your life; I do not wish to burden its calm flowing. But in your times of solitude, when shy and stupid sadness finds you in your room—pick a book, a one we loved, and find the pages, find the lines, the words—that made our eyes shed sweet and silent tears.

Read, close your eyes and reach out your hand… Reach out your hand to me, your absent friend.
I won’t be able to hold it close, it won’t be moving under the ground, but now, I think, that, maybe, you will feel my touch, it’s always there.

And my image will descend before you, and you will see me, and from under your half-closed lashes tears will flow, so much alike to those that we would shed together, when Beauty touched us in its grasp, and smile—my only friend, the one I loved so deeply, the one who will outlive me."

And another piece of writing I love:

Wallflowers by Donna Vorreyer

I heard a word today I'd never heard before--
I wondered where it had been all my life.
I welcomed it, wooed it with my pen,
let it know that it was loved.

They say if you use a word three times, it's yours.
What happens to ones that no one speaks?

Do they wait bitterly,
hollow-eyed orphans in Dickensian bedrooms,
longing for someone to say,
"yes, you...you're the one"?

Or do they wait patiently, shy shadows
at the high school dance,
knowing that, given the slightest chance,
someday, they'll bloom?

I want to make room for all of them,
to be the Ellis island of diction--
give me your tired, your poor,
your gegenshein, your zoanthropy--
all those words without a home,
come out and play--live in my poem.

And an old-time favorite:

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

Taotao Saipan... Suste gatde, it's already 3:47 AM. O.^ I'd better get back to work. Happy Wednesday! (=

O-I--<

P.S. Who ChamEnglish you??? Or rather... ChamoTagalEnglish you??? yeahaha... or.. uh.. erm.. yeah. Morning, World. ;)