A morning's walk brought unsettled feelings not knowing what was true
I looked this way and I looked that way for answers even though I knew that any outside influneces would make no difference
Why was this past brought up now?
My mind constantly went back and forth
He loves me, he loves me not
The very thing in love that I thought I would never find myself in
Were there still feelings for me?
I just wanted to crack the vessel to what was inside the heart, answers that were hidden and locked up
He loves me, he loves me not
I pondered if we were an instrument of one
Were we to never hear the music of us being together?
So I walked until I could hear the music, but there was none
The mystery of the past was still unsolved
And the music was still left unheard
About the Creator
Dancing Dumpling
My name is Hyun and I am a modern dancer from Washington, DC. Writing has been a creative outlet for me, and it has allowed me to express my thoughts that I would not have otherwise, verbally. It has been a very helpful tool.
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A Flower Song
Apparently the Aztecs, Toltecs, Chichimecs and other Mexica were crazy about poetry. Despite the book-burning, slaughter, and epidemics that characterized the early stages of the Spanish conquest of the empires of Mexico, some hundreds of poems from the height of their tradition come down to us in Classical Nahuatl, preserved by Nahua and Spanish scholars of the 16th century. One of the most famous poets, Nezahualcoyotl, was a sage-king who opposed the cult of human sacrifice associated with Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror, and favored Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Flowers and feathers were the favorite offering of the Plumed Serpent. Moreover, flowers and feathers are a metaphor for poetry. Individual words, scattered petals, the down of tropical birds. The temples of blood sacrifice could be transformed into temples of flower and song. A sublimated offering to the Heart of Earth and the Heart of Sky encapsulated in the Classical Nahuatl kenning for poetry: in xōchitl in cuīcatl, meaning, "the flower and the song." The following poem is part of a longer work, and is in a state of flux, so take the waters as they flow:
By Rob Angeli4 days ago in Poets
Standing Still
There are very few moments in life where time truly stands still. When your breath is taken from your chest and your body hangs weightless in that moment. Just long enough for it to stay with you from that day onwards. Deep in the red sands of the Australian Outback, I found that moment and clung to it forever.
By Kevin McLaughlin4 days ago in Wander
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