(¯·._☆ Taking a Step Into Me....PLEASE...Read this first... ☆¯·._)

Thank you for taking a moment to take a step into me & into my life. However, please note that all that is written here is merely my own personal experiences, perceptions, views, opinions, feelings & emotions. This blog is a means of expression for me, as I find writing to be quite cathartic. I hope by using this forum this will promote open lines of communication. I only hope that by doing so this will help precipitate healing and growth. If you don’t agree or don’t share in my perception that is indeed okay. We are all individuals; we are each entitled to our own personal perceptions, views, opinions, feelings & emotions. Please understand that these are mine so you must read at your own risk. If by chance we do not share in the same views I am always willing to talk about it. I am always open to broadening my horizons n’ seeing the world through someone else’s eyes. However, this is me in my rawest of forms, sharing all that colors my world. So come see the world through mine….

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

☆ D.H.Lawrence ☆

"I never saw a wild thing feel sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough, without ever having felt sorry for itself."







The quote "I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop dead from a bough. Without ever having felt sorry for itself.", by D.H Lawrence coveys the idea that a person who has reached a very successful point in life will not be displeased when death is brought upon him. A bough is a large branch which refers to a large title or position in life. The small bird can be seen a person in the sense that every person is a small part of the general population. When the bird falls dead from the bough it signifies a death. After reaching such a successful point in life a person would not feel sorry for himself, but rather for his friends and family who must cope with his absence.

The brilliance came
in a single flash, a chain
of atoms exploding, as one breath
was gulped down, like an opium
of the heart.

There's nothing
rough about this, no heather on the moors,
no mournful cries, as the dumbstruck
God of love simply smiles
a crooked, crooked smile,
eyes laughing
in the moment
where reason is swallowed
in a sleep.

Through every word uttered,
and every syllable, hurled
at breakneck speed, beyond--
she dances in circles, around the nerves
that speak louder than her own silence,
as is she could pull off the sheet
between these two odd, bleeding moments,
and reconcile the mere technicalities of possession.

Nymph, tripping from shadow to shadow,
she abandons what she's left behind before,
leaves this haven on a lark, the dark
smudging behind her, confident
that nothing burns brighter than this--
never mind the ashes.- Blue_Summer

No comments:

Post a Comment

☆ Pages ☆