Mine is kinda like a short story/poem and it's mega famous. I love poetry though, I like all kinds. Anyway it's called "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe. I loved this since I was a wee nipper .
Mine is Howl by Allen Ginsberg. It's long as hell so this is just part of it. I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to thestarry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water fiats 'doating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night, with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi's, I listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
i love ginsberg, kerouac, the beat generation of poets... but my ALL-TIME favorite is "Endymion:A Poetic Romance" by Keats. It's a very long poem and I can't find my book that I have it in, so I will post part of it here later. xo~
A couple of stanzas from "The Ballad of Reading Gaol," written in 1898 by Oscar Wilde, reflecting on his imprisonment in 1895-1897, sentenced to hard labor for the crime of sodomy. That it was consentual sex made no difference. The law was the law. The words are timeless enough to be written today. I know not whether Laws be right or whether Laws be wrong; all we know who lie in jail is that the wall is strong; and that each day is like a year, a year whose days are long. The vilest deeds like poison weeds bloom well in prison air; it's only what is good in Man that wastes and withers there.
im not gona post mine, buts is KUBLA KHAN by Samuel t. Coleridge Its about this amazing, perfect, beautiful dream world with fountains and mountains and silver linings etc etc etc if you understand it, it is absolutely amazing i always dreamed of living in a place like that which coleridge describes....but only in dreams, sadly enough, only in dreams!
Here is one of my favs... Sometimes, for a moment of bliss And the passion, we're craving There's a message we miss Sometimes when, the spirits left alone We must believe in something To find if we've grown Tragic reflex, shattered calm Static progress, senses gone Numb awareness, final psalm Swept away with the tide Through the holes in my hands Crown of thorns at my side Drawing lines in the sand Sometimes, if you're perfectly still You can hear the virgin weeping For the savior of your will Sometimes, your castles in the air And the fantasies you're seeking Are the crosses you bear Sacred conflict, blessed prize Weeping crosses, stainless eyes Desperate addict, faith disguised Swept away with the tide Through the holes in my hands Crown of thorns at my side Drawing lines in the sand We fabricate our demons Invite them into our homes Have supper with the aliens And fight the war alone We conjure up our skeletons Enlist the den of thieves Frightened from our closets Then sewn upon our sleeves In the stream of consciousness There is a river crying Living comes much easier Once we admit We're dying Sometimes, in the wreckage of our wake There's a bitterness we harbor And hate for hatred's sake Sometimes we dig an early grave And crucify our instincts For the hope we couldn't save Sometimes a view from sinless eyes Centers our perspective And pacifies our cries Sometimes the anguish we survive And the mysteries we nurture Are the fabrics of our lives Swept away with the tide Through the holes in my hands Crown of thorns at my side Drawing lines in the sand -John Petrucci