Certainly the beauty of a rose
Its fragrance and green leaves
Or the howling winds
Where they go no one knows
And sweet spring seasons never leave
Or the stoic moon
Cries of the Northern Loon
The temples built and rebuilt
The fine starlight disappearing after night
The endless tides
A tear a laugh a cry
The youth of babes is too easy to save
A name a face a moment in time
The sun never fading
And memory never changing
The lives of house flies
Birds in the skies
The number of human lives
Because no one ever dies.
About the Creator
Emily Dickerson
Hopeful and young, full of love. From my heart high praises are sung. For this reason I am here: to love and serve and bring all souls near. <3
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making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskarabout 17 hours ago in Feast
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