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That1Cellist last won the day on December 21 2022

That1Cellist had the most liked content!

About That1Cellist

  • Birthday September 29

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  • Member Title
    Lycoris Radiata
  • Pronouns
  • Location
    My field of broken dreams
  • Interests
    Cello, reading, discussing books and movies, video games, and observing behaviors of more usual people my age. Music, music, music, music.
    Also some manga

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  1. I found a poem that I think I'd like to share. (Spoilered for length)

    Dulce et Decorum Est
    by Wilfred Owen
    Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
    Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
    Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
    And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
    Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
    But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
    Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
    Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
    Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
    Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
    But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
    And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
    Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
    As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
    In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
    He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
    If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
    Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
    And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
    His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
    If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
    Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
    Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
    Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
    My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
    To children ardent for some desperate glory,
    The old Lie: dulce et decorum est pro patria mori

    The words "ducle et decorum est pro patria mori." were written by the poet Horace, and mean, "it is sweet and fitting to die for one's country. The poem was published after the author's death during the first World War. Wilfred Owen was a war poet, and wrote many poems about war and it's awfulness.

    Anyway, this poem really touched me. It makes me wonder if humans truly are mostly good at heart, or if it may be the other way around. How do we do these things to each other? On the other hand, this poem gives me an appreciation for art and human expression through tragedy. I find it to be a truly wonderful thing.

    I'm sorry. It seems my brain has been wandering strange corridors as of late.

    That's all I have.

    1. Slowswift


      That's an amazing and chilling poem. I love this version my sister shared with me, read by Christopher Eccleston (who some may know as the Ninth Doctor).



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