death is only an old door
set in a garden wall
on gentle hinges it gives, at dusk
when the thrushes call
along the lintel are green leaves
beyond the light lies still;
very willing and weary feet
go over that sill
there is nothing to trouble any heart;
nothing to hurt at all.
death is only a quiet door.
in an old wall.

people disappoint me. weird, it's not their fault. i build up all these expectations, right? of how awesome my life is and the people in it. now, working on accepting what is in my life and not always wishing for what i imagined ( Read more... )

it's so much like apostrophe ( Read more... )

watching the bartender across the street from prost clean his squeeze bottles with ease ( Read more... )

strings, callous, cat, rat king attack ( Read more... )

as deanna says, her head explode ( Read more... )

i've been thinking a lot about talent lately. and how it relates to skills. and that book martin gave me, on being certain. or at least, that book i swiped from martin. on being certain ( Read more... )

meteors ( Read more... )

stolen a few moments, bad dream, raised on promises

a new blog i like lately: barking up the wrong tree

1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me ( Read more... )

repeating, repeated. swelling with the tide and changing when the wind blows ( Read more... )