title: so soft and exciting
jack in my ears,
songs so soft and perfect.
chaos in the mind,
so soft and thoughtless.
tears in my eyes,
so soft and waiting.
love in my soul,
so soft and screaming.
craving in my words,
so soft and loud.
sleep in my fingers,
so soft and short of words.
dreams in my feet,
so soft and inaccessible.
kisses on my toes,
so soft and dreamy.
lies in conversations,
so soft and deceiving.
death in poetry,
so soft and compelling.
death in memories,
so soft and nauseating.
death in photographs,
so soft and tearful.
death in reality,
so soft and agonizing.
death, death, death,
so real, yet unreal.
-19th Jan 2009
Monday, 19 January 2009
Friday, 16 January 2009
by: William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)
OW shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps
The disembodied spirits of the dead,
When all of thee that time could wither sleeps
And perishes among the dust we tread?
For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain
If there I meet thy gentle presence not;
Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought.
Will not thy own meek heart demand me there?
That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given --
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer,
And wilt thou never utter it in heaven?
In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind,
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere,
And larger movements of the unfettered mind,
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here?
The love that lived through all the stormy past,
And meekly with my harsher nature bore,
And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last,
Shall it expire with life, and be no more?
A happier lot than mine, and larger light,
Await thee there, for thou hast bowed thy will
In cheerful homage to the rule of right,
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill.
For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell
Shrink and consume my heart as heat the scroll;
And wrath has left its scar--that fire of hell
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.
Yet, though thou wear'st the glory of the sky,
Wilt thou not keep the same belovèd name,
The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same?
Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home,
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this--
The wisdom which is love--till I become
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss?