Novel & Cerita Life Is But A Stopping Place Poem

The graveyard was so neat. Row upon row of white marble tombstones all rising from the thick blanket of snow. Each one was perfect, polished and exactly the same as all of the others, except the name it bore. They were lined up perfectly with those in front and behind, a city block for the dead. Life is but a roaming shadow, a pitiable thespian. Who struts and frets his few moments upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale imparted by a foolish wit, full of noise and fury... yet meaningless nonetheless.

Only she knew the answer. Finn seemed to understand but didn't press her. Instead, he simply nodded. "Alright. In that case, congratulations on embarking on a brand-new journey in life." Something in her chest tightened. A brand-new journey—was that really possible? She had considered her previous marriage a complete failure, but even now, all she had managed to do was bring it to an end. Nothing felt new. Nothing felt like a beginning. They walked together in silence until they reached the empty classroom where the supplies were stored.

He sang as if he was singing right to her. “Don’t be mad..if I cry..It just hurts so bad sometimes…’Cause every day it’s sinking in..And I have to say goodbye all over again..You know I bet it feels good to have the weight of this world..off your shoulders now…I’m dreaming of the day when I’m finally there with you…save a place for me…save a place for me..I’ll be there soon..I’ll be there soon…Save a place for me…Save some grace for me..I’ll be there soon..I’ll be there soon..I have asked the questions why..But I guess the answer’s for another time…So instead I’ll pray with every tear..And be thankful for the time I had you here…Save a place for me..save a place for me…I’ll be there soon…I’l

Then she reads part from a letter that I never managed to finish writing, “My beloved, They say that life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”

The poem goes like this: “They said you came looking for me. I didn't drown; I was the water." I don't know if that makes sense to you as much as it made sense to me. Nevertheless, it is a beautiful poem written by someone who understands human beings and life in a special way that I and you who has read the poem don't understand. I am not going to waste my time to talk about atheism or to debate about the loopholes of religion. I will leave it for a Sunday when I have the time and strength to actually put a lot of efforts in airing my view for all of you to be complacent with yourself while keeping in mind that my motives are purely intended to bring good and not to cause harm as some of yo

I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said-"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear:

I looked at the gardenia in my palm rather than at his face, because looking at his face at this particular moment was more than I had the structural integrity for. "I think this is the only place I do belong," I said. And then, because the honesty had been building since the bookstore and the Keats and the aisle and the wanting I had breathed through without releasing: "Anywhere else, I'm just passing through." He was quiet for a moment beside me. We had stopped walking without either of us registering the moment we stopped. "Then stop passing through," he said.

The best chapter of my life started the moment I stopped turning back. -END-

it mirrors my own even if he refuses to show it. and maybe thats the truth i have to live with: knowing my place keeping my distance holding everything inside while the world moves on around me,.the city rises streets bustling people moving with purpose. and yet here in this small capsule of metal and leather time feels suspended,.every second stretches taut and fragile like a string ready to snap., i try not to hope.try not to wish,.but the sting in my chest reminds me anyway.knowing my place doesnt make the hurt go away..it only makes it sharper more precise.

--- And as the perfect world stood unchanged— As humanity existed within invisible limits— As peace revealed its hidden cost— One final truth emerged: --- The greatest illusion of control… --- Is making something feel alive— --- When it has already stopped becoming.