Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.

I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the ( Read more... )

            I feel considerable disappointment in people who take lots of pictures of their own faces to post on social community websites. It reveals an arrogance, or an insecurity even, that inappropriately broadcasts itself to the rest of the world. Cameras have the ability to steal souls if used in this way. Please save your soul. Stop taking ( Read more... )

"to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
to the last syllable of recorded time;
and all our yesterdays have lighted fools
to dusty deaths. Out, out brief candle!
Life is but a walking shadow..."

i can't even be left alone with myself anymore. my mind pains me. all these wasted days and the feeling that everything is dead, or dying. i think i may be the most dead of all.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced ( Read more... )

                       
             We walked down to the dock to watch the dusk turn into night. The night came on calmly, and we stood propping our elbows against the railings and leaning our figures over the dark lake to feel the last lingering moments of the day’s mysteries. The sea weeds of the lake just swayed dully, whispering their soft ( Read more... )

i'm going to find love again soon... and make it last this time.
you can't be found until you've first been lost.

To Mr. Bill Bateman,

A wise old friend of my grandfather once said,

Smiling sweet sadness on his last dying bed,

“Always remember to give girls respect,”

And I’ve never forgotten it to this day.

h o w   e a s i l y   w e   f o r g e t
w h a t   i t ' s   l i k e   t o   b e   a   k i d.

Cripple by CARL SANDBURG

ONCE when I saw a cripple
Gasping slowly his last days with the white plague,
Looking from hollow eyes, calling for air,
Desperately gesturing with wasted hands
In the dark and dust of a house down in a slum,
I said to myself
I would rather have been a tall sunflower
Living in a country garden
Lifting a golden-brown face to the ( Read more... )