“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Friday, March 29, 2019
The light from stars
The sun had yet to rise
Still; inevitably it occurs
to us
it will never be the same
when we embrace this day
that tries to run away
from us
Not to notice
A sky
contains hope
levitating
as atmosphere,
permeable to light and
always open
to being caught
unaware
but ready
like the eyes
that see from here.
Painting by Paul Klee, ;Horizon, Zenith and Atmosphere' c. 1925 in Public Domain [CC0].
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
I'll be with you in a moment
We don't give ourselves enough credit for adapting but praise our Evolution as the golden thumb. There is a sweet spot- contentment tha...
-
A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
-
Where does one begin to unpack the suitcase of grief? While it may be nice to throw it all away, or donate these shreds, I find it i...
-
Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...

No comments:
Post a Comment