Given a choice, she would have gone back and known better. But, of course, the choice was not hers. She no longer possessed the will to choose. And the part inside of her that stopped turning its gears and gave way to heavier machinery was so far gone that its cold metal was rusted shut, lacking…
My sister
Like the wind that passes through your fingers, quickly, quietly, certainly, Time cannot be grasped.
i crush wildflowers
beneath my toes
looking ahead (always
ahead) for an agarwood
door at the end
of the field.
what dreams hide there?
what love awaits?
the tall grass sways
and tickles my legs
playful in the breeze,
the perfumes of dusk.
small remnants of prayers,
fresh rain, and…
My mind is whisked away to the Rose Garden just now.
The last day of Maytime, or perhaps the first of June.
Mainz, Germany, cobblestone streets and the smell of fresh rainfall.
Two sisters and an old friend -
Sitting on a park bench, reminiscing of old times, late into the afternoon.
Laughing, encouraging, remembering.
Summertime calling us from around the bend,
while Springtime air still gently kisses our cheeks.
As we grow restless of chatter, we decide upon wandering
(as we do best)
After only a few minutes of strolling,
we stumble upon the Rose Garden.
magnificent with splendour
Roses both tall and low climb walls and wrap endlessly round one another.
A maze of red, yellow, white -
no, a palate of burgundy, cherry, magenta, buttercup, ivory,
lace, snow, violet, fire, blood, gold, indigo…
“Let’s find the one which smells sweetest,” says the old friend.
“We should only judge by color, and then see if we are right - no smelling ALLOWED!”
But the sisters laugh wildly,
for who in their right mind would choose NOT to smell a rose!
Though fully grown, we run about filled with childlike delight.
In all my life, no rose has smelled sweeter than all the roses in the Rose Garden.
The ivory is sickly sweet and the buttercup is gentle,
the magenta is poignant and loud, and the indigo faint and flirty.
But the burgundy… the burgundy is the most glorious of all!
“i’ve found it!” I cry, and drink deeply of its aroma.
The bees swarm in and out and around my head,
but I send them love, and they return it,
for they too know the sweetest rose of all.
The sister and the old friend feel I can’t be so sure,
thus we must have another go ‘round and smell them all once more.
Delight and roses envelope us in a dream world as we frolic about.
For an hour the Rose Garden is ours.
Our joy, our freedom, our life.
Eternity.
One of the fondest moments my memory can conjur.
Two sisters and an old friend,
Spring and Summer intertwined in the wind,
and The Rose Garden,
Our Rose Garden,
and the fire and the rose are one.
“To be conscious is not to be in Time. But only in Time can the moment in the Rose Garden be remembered… Only through time is Time conquered.” -T.S. Eliot
where did you come from?
what hell were you conceived in?
the power to devour,
why did you receive it?
oh, you can take our body,
our bodies are fleeting,
but life will keep living,
lungs will keep breathing,
and the hearts that have beaten
will continue their beating.
death is just an end,
and we are all near it,
so take what you will,
but you can’t take our spirit.
take what you will,
but you can’t take our spirit.
open your eyes, look close,
there’s wisdom in raindrops,
on leaves, and soft delicate wings.
open your eyes, look close,
for the beauty and life,
of small extraordinary things.
my heart is tired,
hold it gently in your hands.
what’s the weight of love?
(Source: thedustdancestoo)
