soft as a feather
against my cheek
the sudden notion
of the obvious
to the eye
to the mind
- but not yet to the heart
from a cut
so sharp
so deep
so unwilling to heal
flowers start to grow
tisdag 29 november 2011
from a cut
soft as a feather
against my cheek
the sudden notion
of the obvious
to the eye
to the mind
- but not yet to the heart
from a cut
so sharp
so deep
so unwilling to heal
flowers start to grow
onsdag 23 november 2011
la catedral
Four out of five early mornings I was there, lighting candles for everyone of us and since I didn't really know how many we were I picked the number of seven. I didn't see what was coming, only what had been, but the wounded savior still hanging on the cross was calling for me to pray: for You and the Yours and myself and mine. So I did, and so I do. I just don't know anymore - who to?
fragile
Fragile (Sting)
If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the colour of the evening sun
Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay
Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetime's argument
That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could
For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are
On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are how fragile we are
On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are
How fragile we are
How fragile we are
How fragile we are
måndag 21 november 2011
love and light
"Light gives of itself freely, filling all available space. It does not seek anything in return; it asks not whether you are friend or foe. It gives of itself and is not thereby diminished." ~ Michael Strassfeld
to bare the flare
I'm hopeless with jewellery. I fall in love with its' beauty, buy it, but almost never wear it. I'm like a tall, dark christmas tree - knowing it could brighten up the town square if it made an effort - but still standing quietly in the forrest because it just can't bare the itch of being illuminated or overly decorated. What is a tree supposed to do about its' nature? A picea abies does not burst into flowers like a rhododendron over night - if ever.
