All shadows of clouds the sun cannot hide like the moon cannot stop oceanic tide; but a hidden star can still be smiling at night's black spell on darkness, beguiling
Poetry is breathing words that give a reader pause.
The Throes of Poetry - Hymns formed from groans of acquaintance, its rhythm weaving between tranquility, compassions, and peril - like bare feet stomping on broken glass - bleeds, recoils, then steps again.
The world badly needs a “Great Arranger” putting everything in perfect order, where none shall be seen in wretched hunger, without a health care and decent shelter. Why we can order our homes, not our world? Where are all the leaders and the rich lords? Where the bright ones, the holy ones adored? Is it only God who can fix the world?
The effect Of this moment Lasted forever And still stands; It’s in my heart; It’s in my mind; Like a wonder
Will I stick to the eternity Of never trying? Or will I challenge the uncertainty Of what can happen If I see you again?