Topic: Friend's poems

[Michael]

A satin murder of keen crows - 
stropped on straps of air and weather - 
A siege as light as heron's bones - 
wrapped in leaf and lapped on feather - 
      and a pretty maid - 
      all petals and rose - 
that's how this wild garden grows.

(by some local popular poet)

[SoulFire]

On behalf of somnium.

I hope you don't mind D, but i found this yesterday and think it's absolutely beautiful.   

I fear the day when I did not know beauty.
The day when I could not worship the sun, the moon, the stars, the earth, and drop to my knees to cry. I fear that the days when I could not weep for beauty will once again return.
I fear that the beauty of tomorrow will cease to surpass the beauty of yesterday, and the day will come before I get to see the full splender of the world.
It is this fear that hurts most. I call it a true fear. A fear for survival, unlike the parasitic type of programed fear that teaches death. The fear that teaches what to fear, what to love, what to 'lust'. The parasitic fear that has taught me to be someone(thing) else. We fear ourselves and the unknown, to the point of killing one another. It is this fear that steals away the beauty that is in us all, and stops us from seeing the world in it's full potential. This fear of being one's true self is a fear that only shields from joy, shielding from the love that is all. A love that we can only teach ourselves.

[Michael]

I fear that the days when I could not weep for beauty will once again return.

fine sensibility