writing is sorrow; having had written is sublime
Long, too long America,
Traveling roads all even and peaceful you learn'd from joys and
prosperity only,
But now, ah now, to learn from crises of anguish, advancing,
grappling with direst fate and recoiling not,
And now to conceive and show to the world what your children en-masse
really are,
(For who except myself has yet conceiv'd what your children en-masse
really are?)
From Drum-taps, 1865
That tiny creature there
the one having just alighted on my arm
and having just pierced my skin
and which is now drawing nourishment
from my very essence
How brave it is
how strong it is in its desire to survive
feeding from that which may end its own diminutive essence
with the slightest
indiscriminate flick of the finger
Aye, the power I possess
I, possessing over this tiny creature
nothing less than the determination
of its life
of its death
Surely, of its death
But why bother
Why not just let it be
For if I were to end its being
it would soon enough return
in the form of any other number of creatures
or things
Returning once again and forevermore
to feed on me
to suck away my life source
and make it its own
spring winds sing cold / branches yet to bud sway, hum / winter's last refrain
life isn't all pain / sometimes there are calls to smile / winter's end is one
the thing in itself / the I in me, thee in thou / alone with our truths
life is without care / its being without effort / ‘tis living that minds
tune out all the noise / and listen to the silence / the language of god
mind and heart aligned / anything seems possible / the way less obscure
#prayforalignment
#happythanksgiving
I hunger for meat! / tho succulent game abounds / my quiver is bare
I am alone - me alone, I exist alone, I consume the crowd and the crowd becomes me without me there is no crowd without me - nothing no thing without me the thing, any thing is absent was never there had never existed I, alone, am and, alone, I exist