The anchors of our hearts brought us through the daunting billows of tumultuous times,
where we now have torn down,
brick by chain
the imprisoning hesitations of diving into each other’s very souls.
Your words, like waves, wash over me and recede,
leaving a feeling of profound okayness,
an overwhelming rightness
on the shores of my spirit.
my chaotic habits and anxious inhibitions
amongst the shipwrecks,
tangle in the seaweed,
and in time become forgotten in the
All this way
no compass on board,
yet I see land ahead.
And when our toes meet the shore
and our lungs secure the sky of the world
we won’t have a clue where we are.
Exhaling all that we have within us,
we will rest in the peace
that it doesn’t matter.
Finally, this paper doesn’t seem so hard anymore. I feel like I’ve got a good start.
Newspaper headlines announce catastrophes, whole countries living in fear, social stress and tension, crime rates, political corruption, the agonizing state if the economy, international bomb threats, and the death of soldiers and civilians on a daily basis. The media goes to all lengths to make sure that everyone knows all about the terrible things that happen in the world and the state of chaos that plagues society. Surrounded with this kind of reality, one finds the task of obtaining peace and contentment understandably difficult. Many people search for relief by pursuing material objects and indulging impulsive desires. However, the most lasting and fulfilling releases from a cruel reality are those found in things that are not material, things that are intrinsic anchors of the heart. Dante Gabriel Rossetti understood this and tries to offer this truth to others in his poem, “Silent Noon.”
The world needs more of this: http://tinyurl.com/yg3a6lh http://tinyurl.com/kvav4l
Mr. Hosler: I know this source came up as a 4% plagarism on turnitin.com when I submitted my paper. Don’tworry about it. This is my own blog. So… don’t let that effect my grade! :]
skies may be blue;yes
(when gone are hail and sleet and snow)
but bluer than my darling’s eyes,
spring skies are no
hearts may be true;yes
(by night or day in joy or woe)
but truer than your lover’s is,
hearts do not grow
nows may be new;yes
(as new as april’s first hello)
but new as this our thousandth kiss,
no now is so
(for those of you new to Cumming’s writing, there are no typos. only the way he intended it to look and flow.)