.

thehermitage:

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

- Edgar Allan Poe, Alone

(via themightymagyar)

              *
A human mind is but the sky,
A canvas thereon which
A multitude of shapes and forms
With clouds that ever switch,

come into view then take their leave.
Some notions of the soul
Drift across a spotless mind
With momentary toll.

              *

Humble is the stone
buried in a well
forever lost to eyes of men whose egos ever swell.

Humble is the drop of rain
before it reach the ground
humbl’r still: the water of the earth it rightly found.

humble sways the curtain
exposed to winter wind.
humble is the mind
with need to sleep again.

humble was the vine which grew about a fence.
weeds know not the burden
of their gardener’s expense.

“Compassion is a burden I’ll happily endure,”

April 5th, we sample oranges.
April 6th reminds.
April 7th I’m envious
April 8th, inclined.

April 9th I drink to thee,
    ”There’s spinach in the crust..”
April 10th I sit to see
      the failings of this lust.

The 11th shown through parted skies
       ”The sun appeared with you,”
I plant these seeds upon those eyes
with mournful sighs.

you knew,

‘attachment is a fever that heartache may allure.’

pretend you care http://formspring.me/kttalley