Phantoms-Christine• Show poetry

She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.


One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.


And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!


-Lord Byron
composed: June 11, 1814

My dad always said that the above poem always reminds him of me.

"Could It Be?"
Staind

Well I don't know what to say
Because there's truth to what you say
I know it kills you I'm this way
There's something different every day


Could it be that I never had the chance to grow inside?
Could it be that my habit is to find a place to hide?
Could it be that sometimes I say things just to disagree?
Could it be that I'm only being me?

Not easy living in my mind
A little peace is hard to find
My every thought is undermined
By all the history inside

Could it be that I never had the chance to grow inside?
Could it be that my habit is to find a place to hide?
Could it be that sometimes I say things just to disagree?
Could it be that I'm only being me?

I know I hear the words you said
Over and over again
I just can't get them through my head
There's just too many voices
Must be like living with the dead
Waiting for me to begin
To do the things I have said
And for this I'm sorry

So there's some truth to what you say

Could it be that I never had the chance to grow inside?
Could it be that my habit is to find a place to hide?
Could it be that sometimes I say things just to disagree?
Could it be that I'm only being me?