Whether in a poem a song or a sonnet, language greets us first in our mind, then our heart and sometimes - when we are unconditionally willing - to the core of our soul...
I am drowning
In a sea of desire
And the only one
Who can save me
Is you
_Christy Ann Martine
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
From "The More Loving One"
by W.H. Auden
It sometimes takes years,
To learn that the source of all happiness,
Comes from somewhere else,
Beyond money or material things,
It comes from love.
Because love is rich
In commitment, trust
and always passionately unconditional.
(Unknown)
Just because someone is poor
Or has little in material wealth
Doesn’t mean their dreams aren’t big
Or their soul isn’t filled with the spirit of life
Or the love they feel,
Is any less than yours.” (Unknown) Your task is not,to seek for love,
But merely to seek and find,
All the barriers,
within yourself,
that you have built,
against it. RUMI
Paths in Poetry (Songs)
Jaded, got a broken past,
Trying to get narrow,
got to be fast,
Cause I'm losing,
time in the sun,
Trying not to end,
what I haven't begun...
JANO
"Yesterday's Gone" Despues mi dijo una arriero,
Que no hay que llegar primero,
Pero hay que saber llegar...
Jose Alfredo Jimenez
"El Rey" Got a baby's brain and an old man's heart,
Took eighteen years to get this far,
Don't always know what I'm talking about,
Feels like I'm living in the middle of doubt...
Alice Cooper
"18" "A BRAVE AND STARTLING TRUTH"
We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth
And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms
When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil
When the rapacious storming of the churches
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze
When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse
When we come to it
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color, By Western sunsets
Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji, Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon Nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world
When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe
When we come to it
We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines
When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear
When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.
“A Brave and Startling Truth” was published in a commemorative booklet in 1995 and later included in Maya Angelou: The Complete Poetry (public library).
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