yours is the music for no instrument
yours the preposterous colour unbeheld
—mine the unbought contemptuous intent
till this our felsh merely shall be excelled
by speaking flower
(if I have made songs
it does not greatly matter to the sun,
nor will rain care
cautiously who prolongs
unserious twilight)Shadows have begun
the hair’s worm huge,ecstatic,rathe….
yours are the poems i do not write.
In this at least we have got a bulge on death,
silence,and the keenly musical light
of sudden nothing….la bocca mia “he
kissed wholly trembling”
or so thought the lady.
— Sonnets - Actualities VII, e.e.cummings
— Luna Adriana (via suspend)
― Liv & Ingmar (2012)
"…and that’s a good lesson to learn in life. Let go.”
Will I be something?
Am I something?
And the answer comes:
You already are.
You always were.
And you still have time to be.
— Anis Mojgani, from “Here I Am” (via contramonte)
— Midnight Nation by J. Michael Straczynski (via thechocolatebrigade)