“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Saturday, October 22, 2016
Isn't that touching
Felt again-
it will never go away.
Now we know. And must go on
even more
This is just as important
we hope
everytime more
can be enough
for now
-waiting-
We live
all the while we say we feel
Alive
sometimes, like memory
of morning sun in autumn light
cast down on dry dirt
heating up
the surface
even more than before
the first
time
And Time
again
open to the sense of it.
Painting by Alexei Harlamov (1840-1925), Portrait of a young girl, in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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