Post by zacko on Oct 10, 2012 22:32:26 GMT -5
To be or not to be- that is the question:
Wether 'tis nobler to in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And, by opposing, end them.
Me: Is this right!!! or not,
Is it more self assuring to suffer the consequences of such status
Or to combat against countless misfortune thus ending them.
To die/No more--and by sleep we say end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to/
To sleep perchance of dream. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep what dreams may come/
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the scorns of time
Th' opressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
/The spurns that patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?
-By death, end the emotional pain and hysterical surprises
That are included in such royal blood.
To sleep and perhaps dream; yet dreams are the problem,
Because in death.. what dreams might I have?
It forces us to deal with such dissapointment for so long.
Who would bear the scars of time?
The culprit is at fault, the proud man is insolent,
The of unacceptable love, the law's of undoing
And the suffering endured by the unworthy,
When he himself with such ease can end it all
With a simple blade?
Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No travelers return/
Thus conscious does make coward
Ans thus the native hue of resolution
Is o'er with the pale cast of thought,
/ Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia-- Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
---Who would endure encumberment and sweat and groan throughout such a meaningless life,
Yet to leave life after death
And into the realm of the unknown is a terrifying fear.
Our contemplation is the reason we fear
And the beautiful color of the end is
Shadowed by the thought.
Wait a moment Ophelia,
Pray for me
For all my sins are remembered
Wether 'tis nobler to in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And, by opposing, end them.
Me: Is this right!!! or not,
Is it more self assuring to suffer the consequences of such status
Or to combat against countless misfortune thus ending them.
To die/No more--and by sleep we say end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to/
To sleep perchance of dream. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep what dreams may come/
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the scorns of time
Th' opressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
/The spurns that patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?
-By death, end the emotional pain and hysterical surprises
That are included in such royal blood.
To sleep and perhaps dream; yet dreams are the problem,
Because in death.. what dreams might I have?
It forces us to deal with such dissapointment for so long.
Who would bear the scars of time?
The culprit is at fault, the proud man is insolent,
The of unacceptable love, the law's of undoing
And the suffering endured by the unworthy,
When he himself with such ease can end it all
With a simple blade?
Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No travelers return/
Thus conscious does make coward
Ans thus the native hue of resolution
Is o'er with the pale cast of thought,
/ Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia-- Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
---Who would endure encumberment and sweat and groan throughout such a meaningless life,
Yet to leave life after death
And into the realm of the unknown is a terrifying fear.
Our contemplation is the reason we fear
And the beautiful color of the end is
Shadowed by the thought.
Wait a moment Ophelia,
Pray for me
For all my sins are remembered