Discover A New Perspective
For what do flowers bloom under earth and sky?
For love of their boredom, lest they die
For what do birds sing in the trees?
For love of their boredom, with songs of seed
Where does the wind blow lest dreams and thought?
Into my head and hands, tied up in a knot.
When the muses leave, what is left but silence? The abysmal comfort, the unending sleep- when the muse leaves where I go to find it? With what rapture, what song- may I sing now in the day that lasts
The wanderer, the seeker All are all the weaker For they fail to see the world’s telling brand The simple sound of one hand….
I wonder, I wonder If in the depths of our slumber, We ever dream to cease our ceaseless number. Perhaps our questions are naught but answers, Perhaps answers are naught but questions, Our pride is pr
