You have known, O Gilgamesh,
What interests me,
To drink from the Well of Immortality.
Which means to make the dead
Rise from their graves
And the prisoners from their cells
The sinners from their sins.
I think love's kiss kills our heart of flesh.
It is the only way to eternal life,
Which should be unbearable if lived
Among the dying flowers
And the shrieking farewells
Of the overstretched arms of our spoiled hopes.
Stichwörter: verse gilgamesh warm-bodies
…they speak great swelling words of emptiness…
2 Peter 2 18Stichwörter: food-for-thought verse speaking peter empty-words ible think-before-you-speak
Why Roses Crave Thorns"
Petals detach from a wilting bud—a single stem plucked before fully blossomed. They descend in hesitant swirls, too soft and limp to shatter like teardrops. One by one they light to blanket a single shadow below.
She is a rose, young and innocent, with beauty incomparable to shame all others. She has flowered enough to stop the observer in his tracks, awestruck. He is compelled to reach out and touch. The petals delight at a silken caress, her bud everything desirable but defenseless—without a sharp edge to make an admirer pause, to warn the intrusive hand. ‘Stay back! Stay back!’
His fingers curl around the stem to tug, and suddenly the rose craves a thorn.
It is madness not to want her and yet madness to cut her down. Let the flower thrive and blush to someday flaunt layers of silken favors! But the world will not have it. A single stem is severed in a selfish moment of desire—a yearning to hold and possess.
Alone and forgotten her petals cry, raining in hesitant swirls where they accumulate to blanket her shadow below. Dry, withered, craving the thorns. Beautiful no more.
Stichwörter: poetry verse thorns rose richelle richelle-goodrich
Tizzy squawked, and he bounced like a ball on the floor.
“I completely forgot; Santa said something more.
He said that a book gives your very thoughts wings,
That carry you off to see wonderful things,
That lift you aloft, throughout time, throughout space
To every era and every place!
Stichwörter: humor christmas verse elf shelf
Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,
For, he tames it, that fetters it in verse.
Stichwörter: grief verse leid trauer
I’m alone with the ghost of the swamp, somewhere near the weeping willows.
Steven Herrick« erste vorherige
Seite 3 von 3.
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.