Since the moment
I found you,
I have only encountered
two kinds of people:
you
and those who aren’t you.
____________
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Faith, Health, and Other Musings
May our minds flourish with creation, and may our hands never deny its expression.
Since the moment
I found you,
I have only encountered
two kinds of people:
you
and those who aren’t you.
____________
Check out our Bookstore for other nonsense.
May our work
motivate our recreation,
and
may our recreation
inspire our work.
It is
often
only through
the lens of art
that we can
understand the world.
I don’t
know why
we ever
seek comfort;
it is always —
unwaveringly —
in the moments
of discomfort,
of yearning,
that we
create.
People tell me
they don’t get
poetry.
I want
to tell them
if they’ve ever
fallen asleep
with a
broken heart
or cried
as their child
wrapped their hand
around their fingers
for the first time,
they not only
understand poetry:
they’ve been
living it
for years.
“I only love
creating and sharing art
and engaging
with other artists,”
I tell myself,
as I check
my stats page again.
(Does anyone else struggle with the balance of ambition and doing art for art’s sake?)
I edit my work,
but not early
as often
as my work
edits me.
A poem is not a poem
if it doesn’t rhyme.
And a song isn’t music
if it’s out of time.
Language isn’t proper
if the grammar falls,
and a piece isn’t literature
until a publisher calls.
But, the listener laughs,
for he knows
that art is actually
full of shadows —
without rhythm
and without form,
art isn’t order
but, instead, a wild storm.
To burden word
with prescriptive rules
and to press down expression
as if a footstool
is to empty art
of its power,
to pluck to death
a vibrant flower.
____________________________
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Poets have long
ached to veil desire
in flowery coverings
to transform emotion
into art.
But what’s more
boldly inspired
than a heart,
naked,
crying out
for you?