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Confutatis maledictis,
Flammis acribus addictis:
Voca me cumm benedictis.
Oro supplex et acclinis,
Cor contritum quasi cinis:
Gere curam mei finis.


When the wicked are confounded,
Doomed to flames of woe unbounded,
Call me, with Thy Saints surrounded.
Low I kneel, with heart submission!
See, like ashes my contrition!
Help me in my last condition!

- Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Requiem, Movement 7 - Confutatis

And on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month : and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.

"Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est!"
- Ludwig van Beethoven

 

We are born from the ashes of our fathers - and our posterity, nurtured from the fire left by the generations.


My Stories

My Poetry

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My other items

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  • Sunrise, Sunset at sharepoetry
    Nature poem...
  • A Turtle's Last Words at sharepoetry
    Soft black eyes / look at the world / as much has changed / since younger days / / Sitting on a sunlit rock / I wonder... / what must it be thinking? / / Slowly, it turns its head to stare at me / for what had seemed my lifetime /
  • Legend at sharepoetry
    Given my time / these feet have worn smooth / the ground of path well chosen / but I suppose / life wanted to throw me on / a different path / and so as I walk / I cringe at the occasional / cut and splinter - / Yet I keep walking / Sl

Guest Book

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  • Brian Balzer : Hi AC on November 11, 2008
    I just stopped by to sign your guestbook and welcome you to storywrite even though you've been here for awhile. Keep writing.
    Your friend,
    Brian

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