a poem is a sermon
What matters most, do you suppose, at living’s end when these doors close: the riches cached, the virgins wooed, the years achieved, the sins eschewed? Or is it all a pointless ruse, that defeats all – no win or lose, a moment’s span that simply goes, regardless of the path you chose, into the mist […]
Continue reading "The Starting Point – a cywydd deuair fyrion"
Who can say what form the end takes? The path each of us chooses makes no two lives the same. The snuff of one flame? A wind came – a mistake; while yet another’s candle’s spark may grow immense, and light the dark. No one can say why one lives and one dies. We just […]
If you would comprehend the world at all, imagine this: a place so pure and wild it knows just spring, not summer yet, or fall. Like a capricious, spoiled and errant child it knows not between sacred and defiled, but treats all things with equal joy and lust until their centers start to rust. Once […]
I will not dwell on might-have beens, nor doubt the world’s slow turn; but fill my world with verdant greens, with love’s unending yearn to learn of things beyond my reach, just out of sight and mind; what dreams and shadows have to teach, what fools and dreamers find. I will not drown in endless […]
Lo! I have wrestled angels in the catacombs of night and risen, as if from the dead, bone-weary, at daylight, my sheets soaked through with fevered sweat and every muscle sore, and tufts of mutilated feathers scattered on the floor, to find the world transformed in just a single evening’s span from one of warmth […]
It breaks my heart to think of you out there in pain; I hope you, too, likewise consider how I feel in your attempts to keep it real. I wonder, though, if broken hearts are not in fact where real growth starts: when pieces back to one are stitched and back to front, are often […]
The smell of the sick-house lingers where the medicines are mixed; even fresh washed clothes and fingers tend to keep the reek of it. The taste of food is changed, its scent turned sour and stale, reducing appetites to nil and turning faces pale. Continued deathwatch, so it seems; each act, each meal observed, a […]