anchored in our bravery,
a loosed reality…
the need for what is free.
This time of lines and boundaries,
founded in a fear that falters,
a bruised alter…
the greed of love and need.
We are ripe
and ready to grieve.
The breed of our own type
is really just a state of mind…
it takes and breaks and then it climbs.
And, though the mountain may seem kind,
it eventually falls,
like the sway of a rhyme.
Its good to be free…
but you have to know how to be.
So, create what you need,
fear what you feed,
and take heed.
The truth isn’t as simple,
as you may read.
“To go into solitude, a man needs to retire as much from his chamber as from society. I am not solitary whilst I read and write, though nobody is with me. But if a man would be alone, let him look at the stars. The rays that come from those heavenly worlds, will separate between him and what he touches. One might think the atmosphere was made transparent with this design, to give man, in the heavenly bodies, the perpetual presence of the sublime. Seen in the streets of cities, how great they are! If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God, which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.
The stars awaken a certain reverence, because though always present, they are inaccessible; but all natural objects make a kindred impression, when the mind is open to their influence. Nature never wears a mean appearance. Neither does the wisest man extort her secret, and lose his curiosity by finding out all her perfection. Nature never became a toy to a wise spirit. The flowers, the animals, the mountains, reflected the wisdom of his best hour, as much as they had delighted the simplicity of his childhood.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
The heart I found inside dark water,
the sound of rocks against each other,
beneath the sky and all its wonder…
how long have I been sleeping?
I dreamed of love and what it longs for,
this heart of mine and all its armor,
a gentle grace for every falter,
and light inside the darkness.
What is true and what has just been told?
I want my eyes to open.
(Source: allthetreesofthefield, via everythingswrong)
Can you hear the songs that escape when you breathe…
the sounds that arise from your seams?
And do you know that they sing me to sleep?
What a terrible thing to awake from a dream…
to discover the vacant nature
of an imagined entity.
A beautiful speech…
rich, in a lack of meaning.
A destined shore disappearing
from a path across the sea.
Broken bones beneath white wings…
Lay me back down to sleep.
You are not your ugly parts.
Your ugly parts are just the result of you not knowing who and what you REALLY are.
