poem – Page 3

There are few things in this world that you can love an endless amount of.

Some of those precious few are books, songs, languages, sunrises and dawnbreaks.

You could wake me up at 3 a.m. after two hours of sleep and no memory of where or who I am and I’d still be ready to talk about squids, the possibility of Atlantis, what ancient music sounded like and why a cup of tea feels like home between my hands.

please be aware that every time I say “excuse me”, what I actually mean is “excuse you”

The universe watches always, sees everything, but judges nothing, and responds never.

and let me tell you a secret, love: if you were really as cruel and terrible and loveless as you think you are, you wouldn’t try and work so hard and do everything to be as kind as you just proved yourself to truly be.

cruelty never doubts itself.

so don’t allow your kindness to do so.

we cannot all be
poems poured into human shape
some of us are
hymns sung before war breaks

They call you witch
Because they think it’s a curse
So walk upright
Because you know it’s the truth

Strange
How they want you to be different
From everyone else
Yet not too much

But weird
How they don’t want you any different
From who you were
In the past

I’m not afraid to burn out.

I’m afraid to never burn at all.

thescavengerandtheherbalist:

narikkaphoto:

The harvest

https://www.facebook.com/narikkaphoto/

@narikkaphoto

When dawn breaks cold outside your house
Then in the silver fields is roused
Something that walks without a step
Something with coal eyes glowing red
So stay inside, and let it roam
Or soon you’ll be its dead new home

Source: narikkaphoto