Thursday, October 23, 2014

The way of the world is easy
No mountains to climb
No rivers to cross.
But it blinds you,
To what lies beyond.
All that glitters
And tempts you now,
They will all turn to dust
In a blink of the eye.
The faithless ones,
They get stolen away
On the road to el dorado.

Drucker and me-bob Buford

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time-mark haddon

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

These are things I can't put into words.
You and I,
Alike yet,
Love and hate,
A thin line,
Which we tread to and fro.
You are a risk
I cannot take
Because I am afraid
Of losing more than I can gain.
We know the way love goes,
It brings you up and then makes you fall
And it brings the rain,
Always it brings the rain.
I wish the rain could wash away the pain
But it never does,
No, it never does.

Monday, October 6, 2014

Some things meant to be said
Are left hidden.
Some things better left unsaid
Laid in the open.

What can I tell you
That will make everything new?
What can I tell you
That will end all that have been wrong?

Too many days have passed
Good times never last.
I am still standing here,
At the same place where I had last shed a tear.

The radio plays the old songs
You and I used to love.
You and I
The ones that had never been
The ones that will never be.
You and I,
A story that began in my mind,
A page that was never turned.

Sunday, October 5, 2014

The world continues to entice,
With its meaningless white noise.
I watch as it steals our souls away.

The rainbow-colored skies,
So pretty it is,
But it is not real and all is just a play.

Thursday, September 25, 2014


You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Mary Oliver