pafret Loc: Northeast

The Poet: Robert Frost, "Acquainted with The Night", Read by Oliver Álain Christie

"Acquainted with The Night"

"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,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night."

- Robert Frost

http://youtu.be/gfDzyrFIzLY
Read by Oliver Álain Christie

badbobby Loc: texas

kinda sad paf
no,really sad
loneliness is terrible

another
this by Dylan Thomas-Oct.27,1914--Nov.9th,1953

Do not go gently into the night


Do not go gently into the night
old age should burn and rage at close of day
rage,rage against the dying of the light

though wise men at their end know dark is right
because their words had forked no lightening they
do not go gentle into that good night

good men.the last wave by,crying how bright
their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay
rage,rage against the dying of the light

wild men who sang the sun in flight
and learn,too late,they grieved it on its way
do not go gentle into that good night

grave men,near death,who see the blinding sight
blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay
rage rage against the dying of the light

and you,my father,there on that sad height
curse,bless,me now with your fierce tears,I pray
do not go gentle into the night
rage,rage against the dying of the light



as I grow older by the day
this hits home

pafret Loc: Northeast

The days of our rage are past and with Fukushimas and madmen possessing the ability to end all life in myriad ways I am afraid our descendants will be continuing their struggle from caves if they survive. I am reminded of Ray Bradbury's story "There Will Come Soft Rains" in which the fate of the homes inhabitants is revealed by their shadows burned into the wall of the house. No time to rage, the light consumed all before the action was completed.