#poe

The deeper you look into Truth; your reflection of self disappears. ↗

— Deborah Brodie

#inspirational #poetry-love-spirituality #inspirational

Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be... ↗

— William Wordsworth

#hope #poetry #strength #strength

The bridge will only take you halfway there, to those mysterious lands you long to see. Through gypsy camps and swirling Arab fair, and moonlit woods where unicorns run free. So come and walk awhile with me and share the twisting trails and wondrous worlds I've known. But this bridge will only take you halfway there. The last few steps you have to take alone. ↗

— Shel Silverstein

#running

Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged. Missing me one place, search another. I stop somewhere waiting for you. ↗

— Walt Whitman

#song

Down on my knees / I peel back the layers of the world. ↗

— Leza Lowitz

#poetry #yoga #yoga

Like a sculptor, if necessary, carve a friend out of stone. Realize that your inner sight is blind and try to see a treasure in everyone. ↗

— Rumi

#muhammad #muslim #poetry #rumi #unity

I am not sure that the discovery of love is necessarily more exquisite than the discovery of poetry. ↗

— Marguerite Yourcenar

#love

The sun is an arrogant thing, always leaving the world behind when it tires of us. The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It's always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Everyday it's a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections. ↗

— Tahereh Mafi

#poetry #shatter-me #change

Without thinking, I knelt in the grass, like someone meaning to pray. When I tried to stand again, I couldn't move, my legs were utterly rigid. Does grief change you like that? Through the birches, I could see the pond. The sun was cutting small white holes in the water. I got up finally; I walked down to the pond. I stood there, brushing the grass from my skirt, watching myself, like a girl after her first lover turning slowly at the bathroom mirror, naked, looking for a sign. But nakedness in women is always a pose. I was not transfigured. I would never be free. ↗

— Louise Glück

#poetry #change

As we change, our writing changes too. You cannot write the same poem twice. And that's a good thing. ↗

— Katerina Stoykova Klemer

#editing #personal-growth #poetry #writing #change