To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean;
This is not solitude, 'tis but to hold
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled.

But midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel and to possess,
And roam alone, the world's tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless;
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!
None that, with kindred consciousness endued,
If we were not, would seem to smile the less
Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued;
This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!
(lord byron: solitude)
~*~*~*~*~**~*~**~*~

Oh where to start?
there is no beginning part
of my life i wish to tell
all i know is how it fell
apart in front of my eyes,
as if the humans were her spies.
never will i be free
she will be my company
in life she shall always be here
and there
everyway....
in my face
she seems to smirk
the slightes sounds, my ears will perk
for i have costum my life to be
on alert look out for she.
who is the thing i speak about?
you know her, she is a scout
a free loader in your thoughts
never thought to be gone
who is she?
she is life itself
(written by meh!: lady life)