I speak two languages
English and Mandarin
I have known them for years
they are my friends
they are my enemies
Without the right words
I cannot understand
the language of art
of poetry, of writing
of what it is to be human
When the right words come
it slips subtlety across my lips
Boreas, the Greek god of the cold north wind
descends upon the staged mythological scene
with violent purpose; all is a torrent of charged masculine rage.
Such sense of impending danger
describing a force beyond human
yet carrying a distinctly human emotion
Rage and violent anger
Words show me what I cannot see
Beyond the brush strokes
Beyond the composition and form
I hear words that describe
that philosophizes and enlightens
the mind, soul, and body
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 8:27 AM UTC
I speak two languages
English and Mandarin
I have known them for years
they are my friends
they are my enemies
Without the right words
I cannot understand
the language of art
of poetry, of writing
of what it is to be human
When the right words come
it slips subtlety across my lips
Boreas, the Greek god of the cold north wind
descends upon the staged mythological scene
with violent purpose; all is a torrent of charged masculine rage.
Such sense of impending danger
describing a force beyond human
yet carrying a distinctly human emotion
Rage and violent anger
Words show me what I cannot see
Beyond the brush strokes
Beyond the composition and form
I hear words that describe
that philosophizes and enlightens
the mind, soul, and body