Dying for some nug
Poem: Upon visiting ocean grave-site.
Tonight
the moon slithers in the sky, rising its immense gait through windy airs, and desends gently, to dip the full lipped ocean, and thought of her I Loved, from whose womb whence I came.
then another rise into the fast projection of stars above, which (when I look) are as scattered as the dust blown from a child’s palm.
The ocean’s cycle has not changed since last you lived and saw and loved, her proscessioned mysteries.
Yes, the waves still are waring against themselves, in their barabarac violent endles ecstasy…
2.
The dust back in its place.
The sun bleeds a dirty dawn still.
,
and where trees are living roots are bending.
I have heard them groan in forests and in backyards;
whole choirs of green antiquity’s mournful sobs.
I have seen their roots grown barren of strength,
and alas, twisted of body and of purpose,
lying the dying man’s lay,
until the sky has absolved its blue and day,
leaving, but at last, the sweet darkness and repent of night;
The unwilling cries of roots,
and the dust of stars scattered,
sing softly still your name, tenderd now, and engraved within Earth’s memory.
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
“
| — | T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land (via theladybyron) |
And so it was I entered the broken world,
to trace the visionary company of love, its voice
an instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled)
But not for long to hold each desperate choice.
to trace the visionary company of love, its voice
an instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled)
But not for long to hold each desperate choice.
“
| — | Hart Crane, The Broken Tower |
Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, and don’t put up with people that are reckless with yours.
“
| — | Kurt Vonnegut (via theladybyron) |
