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Kathy Lockhart
65 years old |
from , I am a woman who loves to write.
Dream on, ye beautiful mind,
Weave your dreams of love
Overflowing warmth so welcome
Share your dreams with us...Come... Arti.
True poets don't write their thoughts with a pen
They release the ink that flows from within their heart
annonymous
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself
But if your love and must needs have desires,
Let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook
That sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
And give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer
For the beloved in your heart
And a song of praise upon your lips.
~ by Gibran Kahlil Gibran ~
"Daffodils" (1804)
I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,They flash upon that inward eyeWhich is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
"They call this war a cloud over the land but they made the weather
and stand in the middle sayin', 'Shit! It's raining.'"
