(Of course) you do not hear their clamor,
the caterwaul of corrupt stars, their dimes and silvers
bouncing on the floor. We are good, the best entertainers
inside the stadium. Rock pounding rock. We lose, we lose.


2 hours ago with 20 notes

Oh these breaths I exhale, I’ve grown lilies,
clematises, the vibrant heads bobbing over
the green, and the evergreen grasses.
And let them die, oh let them perish. I am tired
of the bees sucking mirth and nectar. Don’t you
understand? I want my breath stolen away,
like gold coins pick-pocketed by a thief in daylight.


2 days ago with 89 notes

If flowers can teach themselves how to bloom after winter passes, so can you.

6 days ago with 214,337 notes
originally aestheticintrovert


6 days ago with 387,656 notes
originally castiellonunkanatlari

Write because you want to communicate with yourself. Write because you want to communicate with someone else. Write because life is weird and tragic and amazing. Write because talking is difficult. Write because it polishes the heart. Write because you can. Write because you can’t. Write because there is a blackbird outside of my window right now and oh my god isn’t that the best start to the day? Write because you’re trying to figure yourself out. Write because you might not ever figure yourself out. Write because there still aren’t enough love poems in the world.
— Dalton Day, Interview by Banago Lit  (via victoria-katheryn)

1 week ago with 1,938 notes
originally wordsnquotes

Nightingale.

johnleuven:

The way the wind brushes;
Wind-set lip, and made
The long-gone wing that oars through eve,
Hidden, held, and stayed.

The nightingale taught me songs I’ve known
Before, too afraid to sing it myself,
It comes in the night with the fervor of one
Lifted, loud, and late.

But songs I have heard always reach my ear,
However the hours are long,
The nightingale taught me songs I’ve known —
Songs I’ll never sing on my own.


1 week ago with 53 notes
originally johnleuven

What stubborn children we are
refusing to sleep. The eyes age
with the pallid moon and grow white
as snow. If, when I can bend sky and wind,
I’d sleep, then I can pluck off stars what
moors tonight in my dream.


1 week ago with 175 notes

And when I read, God… the distilled intensities of poet after poet, I feel stifled, weak, pallid; mealy mouthed and utterly absurd.
Sylvia Plath, Summer 1951, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via lifeinpoetry)

1 week ago with 332 notes
originally lifeinpoetry

It is not enough that you see,
you must touch.
It is not enough that you touch,
you must taste.
It is not enough that you taste,
you must consume.
Curiosities appear only as
minor, venial sin
tamer than the greed that follows,
its more damning, heinous twin.


1 week ago with 164 notes

Do you like me?
How absurd!
What’s a question like that?
What’s a silence like that?
And what am I hanging around for,
riddled with what his silence said?
— Lessons in Hunger, Anne Sexton (via scicchitano)

1 week ago with 115 notes
originally scicchitano

Alas, the copper moon hangs in gloom,
its face twist as if a face under the guillotine.
We were milking honey under starlight,
our lips were sweet from it. The honeycomb
is crumbling, everything is breaking.
A banshee wails in the night.


2 weeks ago with 135 notes

You, my nightly visitor, you come as
the night-blooming jasmine’s lobes open and
its sweet scent perfumes the air. I have thought
of this: you make the delightful things happen.
And do not appear now so stricken with awe -
your eyes big as Jupiter when I beg at your feet,
do not leave, do not leave, no, you cannot
acquaint me to such pleasure only to repeal it.


2 weeks ago with 78 notes

I have made a home inside the woods
and call the trees by names, Suzy,
Helen, Ester, all stiff in their stance
‘til some vagrant wind invites them to dance.

Now you call out to me from outside my home.
Your booming voice shakes sky and ground.
I have been at peace amongst trees and stone,
if I heed will I be any less lost and finally found?


2 weeks ago with 165 notes

I would like to hold you, shelter you,
lamb in the midst of foxes and hungry,
hungry wolves whose greed is as vicious
as their feral teeth. Let me save you
from the horror, the ill things they commit.
I, lesser than Providence, in His intangible
presence let me be your hero.
I can be your savior.


2 weeks ago with 142 notes

One, two, water from the skies,
three, four, the roses open their eyes.
If there is good to be found in gloom -
how the teardrops make the flowers bloom.


2 weeks ago with 253 notes

theme by heloteixeira