She left the path of wishing And reached for things, instead; She lived her life with all she was, Not just inside her head -- So now she stands fulfilled, it seems, With time and means to roam -- She's half a world away, but somehow, Wishing she Was home
WHEN ONCE I read a book with life, We snuggled in our beds at night, And dreamed of food and Christmas lights, And what it meant, far past just what it was -- But isolation love in plenty fed: The wrinkled hands, worn down by wrap and heat, With celery cooked, and always something sweet, The wonder made for us, and just because. For granted things need not be taken so: The pages of a book we breathe in Slow
i'm made of the wrong materials for the structure i'm supposed to be: i'm weathered down from years of rain and sun and dirt and entropy i'm meant to be a barrier, and yet, somehow, a welcome sight -- i'm built of stuff that's what-i-was, that's making what i am not quite
coming blue the nightfall, agency, and ill-repute -- orange, the horizon, life itself, a hard commute -- finding in the violet, narcissism worms its way toward a yellow yielding -- heaven promised, hell to pay -- they, the young in gray time, "privilege" -- linguistic hex -- but, the blackening shadows see her looking for what's next
If I could enfold you in blankets of red By fires of yellow to lighten your head, And give you relief from the cold, empty strife That has blown through the minutes that make up your life, Then, perhaps, you could see just what all of that meant As you sit warm and loved by the fireside curled -- My friend, there can be no more worthy time spent Than in trying to better yourself, and the world.
dreams lie, we listen. meant for bolder colors, we stave off doom in sleep, crafting stories of famous victories we'll never fight
surrender to the stillness; be at peace. the fire sits contained, yet spreads its warmth, and you, without much striving, still can be the light and heat that's needed in this place. give in to all you do not need to do: find comfort and assurance in such rest as can take in the moment as it is: you need only this stretch of time and space.
There was a once and long ago, That industry was everywhere; And though some hated those machines, We used them to increase our share Of all the good that this world had. And with those goods, we did more good: We sang in homes and in the bars, And it was simply understood That this was what the new world was. Alas, we didn't, couldn't know The good would move to somewhere else, And we'd be left with Long ago
I saw them in the sunlit park, And had to smile, knowing well How precious, and how brief, these times Can be, And yet how long the spell Can linger after. Even when The skies turn gray as hair and eyes, They'll still recall the sunlit park, For love's the thing that never Dies
