Monday, January 15, 2007
Here we lay alone in hospital beds,
Tracing life in our heads;
But all that is left
Is that this was our entrance and now it's our exit,
As we find our way home.
All the blood and all the sweat
That we invested to be loved
Follows us into our end,
Where we begin to understand
That we are made of love,
And all the beauty stemming from it.
We are made of love,
And every fracture caused by the lack of it.
And all the blood and all the sweat
That we invested to be loved
Follows us into our end,
Where we begin to understand
That maybe Hollywood was right:
When the credits have rolled and the tears have dried,
The answers that we have been dying to find
Are all pieced together and, somehow,
Made perfectly mine.
-careful hands, needle and thread
+ fictions&fires
2:52 PM
----
plangere, latin: to strike, or to lament.
in the depth of winter i finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.
--albert camus
--
to be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best night and day to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle any human being can fight and never stop fighting.
-- ee cummings
--
--