#poetry

A bridge of silver wings stretches from the dead ashes of an unforgiving nightmare to the jeweled vision of a life started anew. ↗

— Aberjhani

#bridges #faith #famous-quotes #famous-quotes-from-classic-books #healing

What seems real one moment is fiction the next and gone out of existence the moment after that. Nostalgia is the greatest enemy of truth, and change our only constancy. ↗

— David Budbill

#poetry #truth #vermont #change

when I am feeling low all i have to do is watch my cats and my courage returns ↗

— Charles Bukowski

#courage #pets #poem #poetry #courage

I regret to say I'm unable to reply to your unexpressed desires. ↗

— Harryette Mullen

#poetry #regrets #silence #courage

Poetry proceeds from the totality of man, sense, imagination, intellect, love, desire, instinct, blood and spirit together. ↗

— Jacques Maritain

#desire #imagination #instinct #intellect #love

Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul, that soft summer morning round a turning in the path, the disgusting carcass on a bed scattered with stones, its legs in the air like a woman in need burning its wedding poisons like a fountain with its rhythmic sobs, I could hear it clearly flowing with a long murmuring sound, but I touch my body in vain to find the wound. I am the vampire of my own heart, one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughter who can no longer smile. Am I dead? I must be dead. ↗

— Charles Baudelaire

#death #horror #murder #poetry #primal-scene

And thus we all are nighing The truth we fear to know: Death will end our crying For friends that come and go. ↗

— Edwin Arlington Robinson

#death #friends #grief #loss #poetry

The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole--- A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#light #night #poetry #stars #death

Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain, But never will be sung to us again, Is they remembrance. Now the hour of rest Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling: it is best. ↗

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

#poetry #death

If you heard your lover scream in the next room and you ran in and saw his pinkie on the floor, in a small puddle of blood. You wouldn't rush to the pinkie and say, 'Darling, are you OK? ' No, you'd wrap your arms around his shoulders and worry about the pinkie later. The same holds true if you heard the scream, ran in and saw his hand or -god forbid- his whole arm. But suppose you hear your lover scream in the next room, and you run in and his head is on the floor next to his body. Which do you rush to and comfort first? ↗

— Jeffrey McDaniel

#hunting-for-cherubs #poetry #death