a small garden
with roots deep,
or seemingly so.
the fruits of summer’s labor removed
to be strung beam to beam,
delicate and fragile,
conducted to their floating folds
by clumsy, willful hands.
she knows not what she means.
she means not what she says.
yet there is no excusing this.
to cut them down,
display them for others to see
to face as she goes to sleep,
and face as she wakes with the first strands of
sunlight sifting through the leaves and windowpanes,
to use at her leisure,
to handle as she sees fit.
what selfish child is this,
to never have learned
how to tend her garden?
To practice any art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow. So do it.
we’ll just play this one out until it explodes
into a thousand tiny pieces
what’s your story universe?
you are melody and numbers
you are shapes and you are rhythms
there are signs that we can learn
to place over the heavens
to predict how long they will burn
how long will i last?
can i turn up the heat?
what star am i circling?
what’s circling me?
now my ebb and my flow
and my lack of control
turning on, turning off
saying yes but playing no
“
| — |
~ Sean Hayes, lyrics to A Thousand Tiny Pieces
|
For all my environment loving, foodie friends :)
Someone said my name in the garden,
while I grew smaller
in the spreading shadow of the peonies,
grew larger by my absence to another,
grew older among the ants, ancient
under the opening heads of the flowers,
new to myself, and stranger.
When I heard my name again, it sounded far,
like the name of the child next door,
or a favorite cousin visiting for the summer,
while the quiet seemed my true name,
a near and inaudible singing
born of hidden ground.
Quiet to quiet, I called back.
And the birds declared my whereabouts all morning.
“
| — |
Li-Young Lee, Someone said my name in the garden
|
uuugggggggggg……..
well, here it goes again.
(via loveyourchaos
I really wish I knew who the artist of this is…I love it.
