Will you watch me as I soar,
Stare into space as I disappear?
Will you love my memory,
After I'm no longer here?
Will you sketch an image into time,
And frame it on your wall?
When I finally fade away,
Will you catch me as I fall?
Is it too much to ask,
For you to float by my side?
Can you never let me go,
And if you fail, will you still try?
Can you take me higher,
Than just an endless journey?
Can you take me higher,
Than what you've already done for me?
If you are loved by a writer, I do not believe that you will ever really die
For you live in every work they have ever written, poetry in their minds that they share with the minds of others.
Your breath is on each pen stroke, your image on each letter.
Your scent captured by the yellowing pages and soul can be found in the corners of each paper.
Your love recorded and felt by many, touching people who you have never met.
And even when you die, and the heart of your beloved writer stops beating, you live on in the words they have written.
You become immortal.
My mother says that we are like flowers.
Look at me
look at my colours so vibrant
how my fragrance so sweet
how I fill your eyes with beauty
and your soul with hope,
is what she says, my mother.
she says we are like flowers
perhaps one day a lover will look at us
and pick us to gift to another
that is the end for that flower
the flower didn't know it would be picked
by a lover
up until that point
went with life, a nice cool breeze lets it
sway in its place. One day
the next some rain falls and washes the flower
then comes that one day
that unforeseen day
where the flower gets picked.
And that is the end for that flower.
Is what she says. My mother
Make your own conclusions. My mother let me make my own.
I want for us to look at the stars together
and see them as glistening
speckles of light
placed by god for you and I
to marvel at.
For you to look at me
as a creation
I am not a product
of a generic process.
I am not
a product of logic.
Understand that you will never understand me
because to understand me
is to liken me
but I am nothing like you've ever known
So if you must love me
with all of your being
If you must,
then love me violently,
but remember I am fragile still
so let your soul
speak to mine first.
I can promise to fill your heart so much
that it pressures from inside your chest
But I'll dial it back
because I wouldn't hurt you
Just know that's how far
And a woman who held a babe against her ***** said, "Speak to us of
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you
with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that