“The moon will guide you through the night with her brightness, but she will always dwell in the darkness, in order to be seen.” – Shannon L. Alder
(more…)Tag: Spirituality
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Once a dream did weave a shade
O’er my angel-guarded bed,
That an emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangle spray,
All heart-broke, I heard her say:“Oh my children! do they cry,
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see,
Now return and weep for me.”Pitying, I dropped a tear:
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied, “What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night?“I am set to light the ground,
While the beetle goes his round:
Follow now the beetle’s hum;
Little wanderer, hie thee home!”Note: This poem is in the public domain and can be found here. William Blake (1757-1827) was an English poet, painter, mystic, and printmaker. He was largely unrecognized during his life, but Blake is now considered a seminal figure in the history of poetry and art in the Romantic era.
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Frozen hands, breath on my neck
Morning fell upon her way of death
Clouds and snowflake tremors
She adored my footsteps through the snow
Killed the last of the living angels
Shivered the dark sound with a passing murmur
Struck by a passion for her blue eyesShare this:
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I can write a poem about love
I can tell her how much I love her
But can I show it?
Can I be there in the dark nights?
Love is more than words on paper
And the vows we have shared
Need to be stronger than the storms of life
It is in these moments
When the road is long and blurry
And the weight gets heavier
That the authenticity of my love
Needs to go beyond mere words in a poemShare this:
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Grasping in the dark and there are no meanings here
I have lost all that; a door closed and trapped now
What caused this to happen? When did it all get so dark?
I am no different than anyone else with his share of heartache
My story is not especially sad, but perhaps my brain is broken
Creativity flows forth, and that’s when I sense a lightness
But under the skin, all I see is the muck and grime
I read about what we do to each other – all those crimes
And now all I see is the grief of the world
I write it down and release the bitterness
But nothing seems beautiful like it used to be
Only the plastic sheen of a pornographic culture
Will my God turn on the light in this dark room?
The only thing I do in these moments is hold on to a stupid hope
Each day more of my innocence is lost
Until even the most beautiful sunset seems like desktop wallpaper
But the stupid hope remains, a mustard seed
And I hope it will grow again one dayShare this:
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