"inexplicable" poems
Sometimes you open yourself up to a person because you feel and believe that they're different and maybe this time they won't break your heart and that your love will be requitted. So you go out on a limb and open up so much of yourself to this person. Things that you're afraid to tell others about because of fear of being judged or rejected. But there's just something about this person that allows you to tell them everything. You become so comfortable in the presence of that person that you openly admit your flaws, you don't hide it. You just completely lose yourself in love and in the thought and concept of being loved, of being in a relationship and of being with someone that you can be yourself with. The idea of that person just completely excites you and everything about them makes you happy. Seeing them and hearing their voice just helps you in an inexplicable manner and being with them is an emotion of complete comfortability on its own. You learn to love this person and you accept their flaws and differences. You accept how they might not necessarily love eating McDonalds as much as you do or they are crazy about sci-fi movies where you can't even get yourself past watching a chick flick.
But that's just it, you don't mind.
You don't mind because love is about sacrifices.
Its about sacrificing your weekly episode of The Vampire Diaries to watch the most recent sports updates.
Because you'd rather lose the argument than to lose the person. You'd sacrifice a part of your daily routine all for love. The worst part is that nothing is guaranteed. You're not guaranteed how long you will be in a relationship with this person. You're not guaranteed complete happiness and you're not guaranteed that things are going to be perfect. You just have to trust this person and have faith. Believe the best and hope that everything will work out for the. Best. Believe that even if you break up with this person, that you're going to be ok. Everything is going to be ok, and that new beginnings are perfectly acceptable. Believe that you're going to overcome heartbreak of any kind. You just have to believe that someone out there is looking for someone like you.
What others see Wrong in you just might be the exact thing that will make someone else fall in love with you. And you need to be realistic. Not all relationships last forever. Some relationships are there for lessons and experiences. So that very person that you completely open yourself up to, can break your heart. It could be during or even after the relationship.
But its all part of life I guess. You'll never know how to love someone wholeheartedly if you haven't been hurt before. You just have to turn your heartbreak in to something positive, make the most out of your situation. See the light in the darkness. But learn to deal with things too. Find closure in what happened to you and don't leave a relationship with unfinished business. Because unfinished business will have to be finished sooner or later, and I think sooner is better. Allow yourself time to heal too. Opening yourself up to someone that much can hurt you a lot, and everything you had with that person will be completely lost in an instant. And you're gonna need to come to terms with that. Remember that what's meant to be , will be.
Love, is a complicated thing, and you're never quite sure how things could possibly turn out to be. You're just gonna go out on a limb each time hoping for the best and patiently waiting for your happily ever after with a special person.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
Myth
"Observable phenomena's effect on the human condition."
Mythology
"Utilizing knowledge acquired during human existence to better understand the inexplicable through language."
History
"The perception of past events or knowledge altered by the present human condition."
Technology
"Mankind's attempt to eradicate God and Nature in order to determine whether or not there is life after death."
APOPTOSIS
"Programmed Cell Death." *
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC
“I need to talk to you.” I hate these words. Because in a nanosecond I felt nervous; uneasiness filled my heart, afraid of what you are going to say & afraid of what will happen next. These words are just like the introduction of all the stories I have read. The stories that will always end up breaking my heart.
“I don’t love you anymore.” There. I know that was the second line you are going to say. I expected that. But I guess even though how much you are prepared for the situation and how much you expect that that may cause your heartbreak, you cannot help not to be hurt so much. I did not know what to feel that time. It was a myriad emotion and inexplicable feelings, tears are falling down my face and at the same time my body suddenly feels weak. And I did not know what to do.
It seems like yesterday since you told me that you will always be here when I needed you and that we are going to see together those places we are never going through. Your lips that tell me you really love me and your eyes that can tell it is true; that you are sincere. It has been just like a storm that came in and you are that storm that suddenly destroys my whole life when you left me.
Now I finally understand why storms are named after people.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
where am i?
how am I to write when
I am no different from
those gaseous ephemeral words
who lie prostrate upon
the pages of my dictionary
carved plainly into
those battlefields strewn across
the wartorn country
my heart the despotic dictator
whose primal drumming
carries no tune
and no rhythm
and throws of explosions
grenades that
black out the world for
a brief moment
until it careens back and
slams into me
disorientated
i should have been born twice
for how could i have
both my body and that
intangible inexplicable
something inside
it stirs at the molten core
of me
that chasm that forged
those graven images
that first gave way to
a pictographic language
and offered me
a voice
to explain that immutable
all powerful
urge
lust
to throw myself on that
red button and
detonate
burst into a million pieces
and finally relieve that
nauseating pressure
of adipose smushed between
holy bone and
saintly skin
interloping in that space
and separating two lovers
barriers create madness
walls box me in
and yet i grow
an expanding balloon girl
macy’s day parade and
candy littered streets
and razor sharp edges
to steel walls pressing harder
against me than
my supple skin could
ever possibly press
back
i can’t breathe
there is no room
for my lungs to expand
and feel the
fresh sun filled meadow
of crystal air
delivering oxygen to
starved alveoli
and i can’t find your chest
to guide me
in impossible respiration
i’m suffocating in my own skin
from no outside force
but my body itself
turns inward and
shouts its dominance at my
cowering self
sniveling in the corner
of my dusty half used heart
where no blade could possible
land a blow deep enough
to silence the torment and
particular personal poison
a torture to course through
every part of me
activating every single neuron
and making me
hyperaware of my
shame and noxious
venomous corpulence
a reality i
never wanted you to see
but is written plainly
in fiery script across my forehead
and in every fold of fat.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
I know exactly how your lips will feel
The moment before they brush mine
Yet your kisses never fail
To take my breath away
I know exactly the path your fingers will trace
Along my cheek to the back of my neck
Yet your touch never fails
To electrocute my skin
I know exactly the look in your eyes
Before you lean your face towards mine
Yet your gaze never fails
To paralyze me
We are an oxymoron
Inexplicable
But we are also puzzle pieces
Perfectly seamless
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
*Man and woman, though different
Are equal in the eyes of God.
inexplicable though true but still
Unacceptable for some perhaps
Man is the highest of all creations
Woman is the most sublime of all Ideals.
God made for a man a throne,
for a woman an altar.
the throne exalts,
The altar sanctifies.
Man is the brain.
woman is the heart.
The brain fabricates light while
The heart produces love.
light fecunds,
Love resuscitates.
Man is the code.
Woman is the gospel.
The code corrects
As the gospel perfects.
Man is the genius while
Woman is the angel.
The genius is undefinable
And the angel is immeasurable.
Man is strong in reason
but woman is invincible in her tears.
Reason convinces the most stubborn
Just as tears soften the hardest of mortals.
Man is the ocean
And the woman is the lake.
The ocean has it's pearls that adorn;
The lake has its poems that dazzle.*
***Man stands where the earth ends;
And woman where heaven begins.***
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
well that was lunch which
was preoccupied with such
thoughts of the typical poet
eg why does the world want
to cheat me..
what is the point and what
is for tea..my lover´ s eyes are
burnished fields´ of wheat
i thought of love
and lily..
a small blue bowl of vague
reminded of a broken heart
and since stopping smoking
marijuana has my art
suffered unnecessarily..
or is it better some clue
must tell the difference between
the placid and uncontolable rage
the compatability of lasagne and rice
the oxymoron..
the pollution of serviettes..
with our destructive urges
laced with inexplicable
flat cola and
creation..
not unlike hunting for
searching salt to will
made in our own likeness
cold soup to chips
to explain..
what is this thing called man
chapatti and jam..
we have to have to tell
we have to work
and then stack
to clear them..
begin again
the thoughts
of a typical
poet and soooo
end..
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
Listening to these depressing songs.
It's ironically giving me the will to be strong,
And I don't mind if they're being played for long.
They're making the oceans of my heart rift,
Letting my soul drift in the cold water.
Staring up into the sun,
Ironically it seems fun.
Dipping in my own sorrow,
Urging me to press play,
Again and again,
Making me feel a little bit insane.
I'm enjoying dwelling in my inexplicable pain,
Making me realize,
That maybe,
Sometimes,
One can be happy by just being sad.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 7:59 AM UTC
And now...
I have come to realize how truly strong a person you are. Stronger than anyone I have ever met. To keep a secret like that, and never tell without crumbling.
And now...
I have come to realize what a selfish, self-centered ***** I really am to be so caught up in my own dumb mind with my own worthless problems that are NOTHING compared to what you withheld. I won't dwell too long on what an awful unsupportive friend and person I have been because that would once again be drawing attention back to me the selfish way I have been doing, but I feel like I have to say it at least once: I am so. so. incredibly. sorry. I never noticed or asked how you were or saw that something was wrong. I'm so so sorry I wallowed in that pathetic self-pity for so long just over my stupid issues that are so miniscule compared to yours, I basically want to whack myself in the head with my guitar I'm so ****** at myself. I am SO SORRY I wasn't there and I'm SO SO SO SORRY I surrounded you with my own dumb unnecessary negativity when you had enough of your own. I'm so sorry. I cried for nearly an hour last night out of anger with myself for not being a good friend and out of sorrow for your troubles and the pain you must be going through. You can almost always tell when I am upset somehow but that is like your odd supernatural inexplicable talent and I don’t have it. I wish I did, but I can tell when someone likes another person somehow almost always accurately but what use is that? I’m just so sorry from the bottom of my heart and I promise that beginning NOW and today I swear I am going to be here for you. I am so sorry for not being there. Okay, I’m going to stop going on about it now.
And now…
I can see everything I didn’t pick up on when I needed to so clearly.
And now…
I just want you to be okay. I JUST want you not to be in pain. I don’t know how to fix you but I’ll do anything I can to try.
And now…
I want you to know how brave you are, to go at it alone.
And now…
I want you to know, two years ago, we agreed “No Secrets”. Well, since then we have kept multiple secrets from one another. All of us. Since then that agreement has become less and less realistic. There will always be secrets and that is just a part of life. I understand why you didn’t tell me sooner and I just want you to know that I am always prepared to drop literally everything of mine, physical, mental, and emotional to listen to you and care more about your problems than mine because yours are always and have always been far greater than any of my pitiful woes. I will always understand why you keep things from me, but when you choose to share it, in your own time, then I will always be there to listen and understand.
And now…
I will never abandon you in this.
-Love Ember
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
Favorite word: “nymphet”, but no!
Halcyon, a kind of drug, you know.
Searching through the pages’ mist
And imagined deeds
Of poets’ needs…
I found my favourite word,
As asked,
Neither sacred nor profane
That describes the Venetian rain
In my beloved’s eyes
And the Florentine sun upon her hair:
“Auburn, russet, mythopoeic”.
Oh, it is not fair,
To liken an object
Of my lust and love
To anything as mortal as autumn air!
Nor “October’s orchard Haze”;
She had her own
Inscrutable, premeditated ways!
Rather let me say that she was perfect,
Though her eyes, pale and myopic,
Her shuffling gait and
Graceless limbs, to them Grace lends
Fey charm, the power to mend
My suffering and
Delusions of a poet’s end
As anything but pathetic,
(Her mother’s fondness for vague emetics)
And I left softly hanging,
On a girl’s new taste,
A tang of russet apples on her face,
But no, not that, the sum
Of my love, My Lo!
Then her bleak demise, partly by my hand
That none of you brutes could understand;
The pure love,
So sadly consummated,
Between a lover
And the one she hated
Yet loved once with inexplicable delight,
On one stolen, frightened night…
In which the two of us agreed
To satisfy a simple, yet maniacal need,
And then depart…
But I could not,
You see;
She was my life,
My love, my heart.
Humbert Humbert 1950
Sharon Talbot ca. 2005
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 11:11 AM UTC
she loved the rain
the splitter splatter sound
every drop makes
were music to her ears
she loved the thunder
the ferocity of its roar
gave her the strength
to hold on for awhile more
she loved the lightning
the beauty of each stroke
containing the lethal power to hurt and ****
yet remain in inexplicable beauty
in short she loved thunderstorms
a mixture of rain thunder and lightning
just like her inner conflict of thoughts
and emotional turmoil
she compared herself to thunderstorms
not that she was a beauty
but she believed that
it depicted the words she wanted to say
she loved them so much
she chose to die on the day
there was a thunderstorm outside
pouring out things she never said.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
It is only in the state of galvanization,
do I realize what it means to be impervious in youth.
I have a father who stresses to me this:
"Happiness is elusive."
This is the kind of statement that must be swished around in the mouth,
only to be spat back out.
"Happiness is elusive."
It is cause for concern,
really.
I will do my best in order to refuse to believe it,
to believe him.
Happiness is achieved through discovery.
I think that I may have once had a sister (in my recollection she was very pretty).
I was around her whenever it was deemed possible to do so -- it honestly wasn't too often that I could.
In the very nooks and crannies of my childhood,
if I could fall back unto the natural sublimity of it all;
I do recall that I had a sister.
Her features must have been youthful,
from what I remember she was no more than inexplicable.
If it were not so ambiguous,
I might feel more inclined to speak with her again some day.
The past is a scary thing.
I feel pain in thinking of the lengths behind me,
for what I have cultivated is sour.
Recently a good friend accused me of this:
"Being a recluse, spiteful, selfish person."
Her notion both confused and throttled me,
and only afterward did she speak in such a fervently aural tone:
"That is o.k., you're only human after all."
This is the very comment that sliced my being into a duality,
leaving me to write poetry in order to attempt to find higher acceptance.
Wisdom is a well, funny euphemism for delusion;
And in my youth I am impervious.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
an all purpose cleaner response to the
how-ya-doing-question,
as my vibe unmistakable;
the hatred in the world directed at
MY PEOPLE,
is inexplicable, beyond reason,
a hatred raw and pure in the
tiny places we humans hide it, lest
our ancient linkage to an unreasoned,
embarrassing emotion, be revealed
but now revealed it is reveled,
as the freedom to despise is a
valued thing
is an ancient scar, now freshly wounded
and the two thousand year old accumulated, callused,
surrounding wafer thin, layered upon layer of
tissue,
wiped away
in utter disbelief
cleansed,
a different kind of impure clean,
“like” an ethnic cleansing,
traceless, whisked away in a wink of moment,
a goner.
like hope, prior sentient optimism
sentenced to life imprisonment and
this sentence, and this very sentence!
written finally understanding that it is
a punishment
far worse than the quick relief of death.
c’mon, how about a few “fukk you jew”
cri de coeur, heartfelt, genuine, pointless
hate
no, not I, no, not me,
spare me the pithy comments,
the pointless sympathy, glistening
like evaporating water droplets
before disappearing, I ask myself,
not
why they hate, why it persists,
for this I understand and accept
the foulness of what we are capable of is,
beloved,
as a secret pleasure, now secreted in torrents.
no, I ask myself,
why do I write poetry,
for it is as pointless as
the hatred directed at me,
from birth, till death,
and ever after,
the humanity of poetry
just another fraud
another reason
why this man cries in the bathroom,^
not from any shape of shame,
because poetry is pointless
in times of hatred, and now we
know, recognize, it is always
somewhere, nearby, always
present and prescient,
pointless hatred,
itching to be pointed at me,
makes for
pointless poetry.
To whom shall I point my poetry?
Nov 12, 2023
Nov 12, 2023 at 2:08 AM UTC
**
A new poetry posting site from God's own country, Kerala in India
Poetry dates all the way back to the beginnings of Humanity. People have always been questioning nature, and the day-to-day existence of themselves and other humans love, death, survival, war, injustice, and the universe are all examples of things that have been questioned by men and woman since the roots of human existence. Whether in nursery rhyme, ballad, jingle, rhyme, anthem, or music, people have found poetry to be an outlet for expressing these questions, sensations, and experiences
People often associate it with strict rhyming patterns, complicated vocabulary, hidden iconic meanings, and difficult rhythmical conventions. Poetry is even taught in school to be an intricate, complicated, inexplicable puzzle. True, poetry is difficult. Sure, it can be harder to understand than prose. However, that is only because sometimes it is involved with your inescapable complexities
and uncertainties of your existence.
In this era when the soul wants to go on a spree, imagination and creativity are all merged to serve and let you fulfill your wish to express. The pen, mightier than the sword, is free and can conquer hearts all over the world. So here is a site which allows unity in diversity and considers not cultural and racial barriers. It welcomes professionals and amateurs equally as poetry believe not in prejudice. Human beings are free to write their feelings and emotions. We therefore invite here people from all over the world to celebrate under the ipoetree. Feel at home here under the shade of this tree which
pines to have as fruits your poems.
Williamsji Maveli (Williams George Maveli) is an enthusiastic and solid writer. He is a sincere, resourceful and diligent in his poetic work. He is very well connected and networked within the literary community and is willing to take up projects even in his tight schedules. His writings reflect the amount of research on the current events that has gone into it along with his knowledge and expertise in the field. However, Williamsji’s many poems are simple to read, interpret, and understand. His latest book, titled “ARAMVIRALTHUMBATHU…” (On the tip of the sixth finger), is now published and released by H & C Books,Trichur, Kerala in India, which is a collection of lyrics.
If anyone is interested, please email to [email protected] or write to
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
PO BOX 3
ANGAMALY
ERNAKULAM DISTRICT,
KERALA - INDIA
**
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
I am not what I used to be
So now in the shadow of unspoken events
Everything whimsical is leaving
Words fill my head, they fragment like artillery shells
they tare through it forcing irreparable damage.
Time has accelerated
Born out of the absence of light
Shaped by my own hands
Justly worthy to be referenced and adored
I re-encounter what my elation briefly with held
The thirst for the dangerous
Obliterate the incomprehensible crowding thoughts
The stampede within my head
The mayhem of the many visions
Lock them down, all that fracture within my head
Inexplicable wanderings of mindful musings
Spontaneous perceptions
Shadow of foe
Encircling their fears with distractions
Pulsing in endless repetitions
I am the one whose throat is stripped bare.
I am the one who has not spoken in years
A distant moon to sense
© Crystal Erickson
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
Maybe someday we could have a picnic together.
Sunlight always makes your eyes shimmer like public swimming pools
with a little too much chlorine, and I’d love to see you dance
nervously when you discover a line of ants marching up your leg.
I’d like to kiss you with the taste of potato salad fresh on your lips
with a twist of lukewarm lemonade; you’d probably push me away
self consciously, but the fact of the matter is that your mouth
would excite me even after eating ten pounds of garlic.
The red checkered blanket would bring out the creamy tones
in your skin and I’d soon find myself devouring your beauty rather than
the pre-made peanut butter and jam sandwiches.
Your voice and its stories are sweeter than any strawberries
I’ve ever tasted, anyhow.
I could plan our lunches together for the rest of our lives,
but you’re not the kind of girl to settle down for a lunch
with someone like me, let alone for a lifetime.
So for some inexplicable reason I imagine myself at your door,
wicker basket in hand, with no answer.
As it would seem, picnics aren’t really your scene.
And neither am I.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
a swift death
is hardly fair
to miss every moment,
every smile,
every promise
as pink and white
blow through the air
the heart fills with
inexplicable pain,
unimaginable love
running through veins
reaching into souls
I miss you incredibly,
beautiful cherry blossom
May 21, 2011
May 21, 2011 at 7:41 PM UTC
Gliding through a fish ballet,
moving in unison around hands outstretched.
Colors bursting all around.
leading me deeper into the world of inexplicable beauty.
Bubbles dance reflecting shimmering lights,
revealing life unseen.
Crunching coral in beaks echoes from below,
while swirling stripes beat out the rhythm of the waves
Calm and quiet surround, hypnotizing and entrancing
calling me to dance.
How tiny and insignificant we,
yet this world has existed in breathless eternity.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 11:34 PM UTC
"Make of yourself a light"
said the Buddha,
before he died.
I think of this every morning
as the east begins
to tear off its many clouds
of darkness, to send up the first
signal-a white fan
streaked with pink and violet,
even green.
An old man, he lay down
between two sala trees,
and he might have said anything,
knowing it was his final hour.
The light burns upward,
it thickens and settles over the fields.
Around him, the villagers gathered
and stretched forward to listen.
Even before the sun itself
hangs, disattached, in the blue air,
I am touched everywhere
by its ocean of yellow waves.
No doubt he thought of everything
that had happened in his difficult life.
And then I feel the sun itself
as it blazes over the hills,
like a million flowers on fire-
clearly I'm not needed,
yet I feel myself turning
into something of inexplicable value.
Slowly, beneath the branches,
he raised his head.
He looked into the faces of that frightened crowd.
5.1k
It's mortifying...
The dilemma, the time lapse, the wait, the clock.
The abstract that I so blatantly describe in my other writings.
Time cannot be paused, stopped...
The abstraction is so formulated into one diverse piece, the creation of such is appealing, yet reformative.
Inconsequential, to the matter of science, myth, philosophy, conduct, and everything that exists beyond our mind.
I hold onto this creation, because the conclusion of the matter holds many intellectual debates that cannot be won or answered.
It is forbidden, it's lost.
The question of right and wrong holds many definitions that are inexplicable to the concept of reality itself, when the utter illusion holds the introspection that philosophers like myself, cannot give a precise answer to.
Time will let us be.
It's a quiet storm, and I've never felt like this before.
Sometimes I think, you're just too good for me.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 4:48 PM UTC
When the universe is carefree
And there’s happiness in the chaos
Wild and wide, cannot be tamed
Many worlds coexist throughout
Here we are on this celestial body
Trying to find answers to our origins
Many questions and confabulations
Our daily meditations yield no path
We are caught in the web of time
Going back and forth with our life
One form to another, inexplicable cycle
We can be carefree as the universe
Maybe the answers are hidden within
The path we have taken is flailing
Our unsure steps swerving us away
Time has come to be carefree
Join the chaos and find meaning
Align with the universe’s nonchalance
The answers will appear before us
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
If I knew who I’d be
by the last written line of this poem.
If I knew who’d sway, besotted, beside me
to lean in and catch the last word
of our maundering sobhet;
If this, I’d never have left
my Beloved's company to begin with.
I crawled wild-eyed from the depths
of the inexplicable,
cold embers of abandoned age,
To go there.
To go to the tip
where the flame flickers
and breath burns.
The Beloved is the earth,
my awareness, roots.
If this,
then love is the water
flowing through the rock,
drawn up the vine
to fatten the grape.
This drunken dance
is a fruit harvest
We fools are the wine makers.
Who gets who intoxicated?
Bestami Bayazid said,
*"I am the wine drinker and the wine and the cupbearer
I came for from Bayazid-ness as a snake from its skin.
Then I looked and saw that lover and beloved are one
I was the smith of my own self.
I am the throne and the footstool.
Your obedience to me greater than my obedience to you
I am the well-preserved tablet.
I saw the Kaaba walking around me."*
I say, I arrived in this place two sunsets back
but I did not have to travel to get here.
The earth makes its way around the sun on my behalf.
My journey is both a somber desert
and a purling rain forest
It is my pause that makes one or the other so.
A hungry sparrow hops cautiously through bread crumbs
strewn around a fat loaf of bread.
The feast is on the table, our hands in our pockets,
our mouths sealed shut,
bellies full of hesitation, we circle the spread.
Empty are the stores of those who
Cannot sate their hunger for truth.
The empty belly of a sparrow
sees the universe in a morsel of bread
So of what use is the whole loaf.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 8:57 AM UTC
There's one rotten string on my Ukulele
That holds me back from playing
Behind it, an inexplicable frustration
But the explanation goes without saying.
Strum, Strum, Buzz, Strum
Why can't I just play the chord
Is something wrong with the instrument?
Beyond repair I can afford?
Maybe it's me, that's playing wrong
Why can't I strum that string?
I can't play my freaking melody,
So I guess I'll just try to sing.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
The small dogs look at the big dogs;
They observe unwieldy dimensions
And curious imperfections of odor.
Here is the formal male group:
The young men look upon their seniors,
They consider the elderly mind
And observe its inexplicable correlations.
Said Tsin-Tsu:
It is only in small dogs and the young
That we find minute observation
4k
All I know beyond
a flicker of a flame of a
doubt is that, for whatever
inexplicable reason, you are
fascinating
and each and every day, every
moment with you brings new
light into the equation
so bring on the days and
build up a lifetime
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC