On this day :
1914 The Christmas Truce, 1776 Washington crosses the Delaware, 1880 Layne Hall is born will become oldest licensed driver in United States, 1862 Christmas for Union soldier Elisha Hunt Rhodes, 1991 Gorbachev resigns as president of the USSR, 1996 Young JonBenet Ramsey is murdered, 2000 Christmas party in China turns deadly, 6 Christ is born, 1962 To Kill a Mockingbird debuts, 1996 Jimmy Buffett departs on a cruise that inspires A Pirate Looks at Fifty, 1941 Bing Crosby introduces White Christmas to the world, 1869 John Wesley Hardin kills over a card game, 1776 Washington leads troops on raid at Trenton New Jersey, 2002 Katie Hnida is first woman to play in Division I football game, 1966 Harrison Salisbury reports on damage caused by US bombing, 1972 Linebacker II resumes after Christmas pause, 1914 Enemies exchange Christmas greetings, 1941 British surrender Hong Kong,

Poems

Unrequited

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All unfeigned relationships,

Commence, in celestial efflorescence.

But, passion unreciprocated-

Is like an exanimate corpse,

(vehemently 'lifeless' 'cause there are throbbing dead bodies in the present world!)

A fish out of water,

A sky without Sun,

A night without stars,

An orphan with no fortune.

 

All relations, mightn't be deemed towards eternity,

But only some, on echt, veritable grounds-

Jaunt towards eonian fraternity.

 

Friendship-typically reckoned-

To be the adept beginning,

Is proved by the modern-world,

To take the helm of counterfeit.

 

"No offense", best allies-

Germinated, life mates,

This isn't the Victorian era prolonged,

A long lost Shakespearean whim,

Nevertheless fancies a few, apiece,

Persistent remnants of the currently debarred-

"Golden Age".

 

Somewhere, we all have read,

"Love is a hollow sham. Life's a farce!"

That's almost nigh today,

When mostly heartless automatons-

Commune, indigent and insolvent,

In emotions. Mostly, the debated counterparts-

Are allies,

Who eruditely know each other,

Who bask a sapid walk together,

Who confide, and entrust-

Their inscrutable mysteries, to each other,

And, colossally more to go on,

Towards making the perfect match.

 

But still, one's proffer to other,

Is an effete disposition.

The other will indisputably twitch-

The unsought, abominable nerve,

Assaying to accentuate the better one's-

Impuissant frailties, and to bash it-

With all vigour.

 

Then follows,

The debouched,

Cold-blooded, jubilation-

Of the one who inflicted anguish-

Over the inauspicious one who still-

Haven't subdued his inner conflicts,

Grounded on the savage, flimflam sting,

Of petty coquetry, or the hollow, vacuous,

Sham of unrequited love.

 

Guys, to plunge yourself in-

Irrecoverable grief,

Might match an epic ballad's restating.

But, 21st century Rhapsodies,

Should be based on protagonists,

Who easily convalesce,

Wiping off ineffective dust from his torso,

Who care no more for lost sands,

Cause a lustrous horizon of Life,

Lies Ahead,

And 'cause'Robert Frost' had written invaluable verse,

For generations to emulate.

 

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