The days are spent in glory and sun
until rain casts its violent shadow;
a storm to herald a setting moon
and bring life again, glory again --
-- it will be here soon
You can get lost in nature
it entices you into its graceful grasp
luring you into a dream
of eternal sunshine
There is nothing more hopeful than the delicate touch of rain amongst a thunderstorm of clouds.
Friday, 23rd July 2021
The moon was swallowed in a throbbing light
As the thunder began its climbing flight
And in the dawn of a swelling tide
She saw inside the world dressed in spite
You storm away without a backward glance
only troubled minds seek paradise
an escape to a better world
far from circumstance
you whisper to yourself at night
clearing tear-tracked eyes, a haunted sight
I see you now through the mirror glass
cursing what blocks your well-trodden path
Mackenzie Herbert, Chasing Trains // Artwork by @/archbudzar on ig // Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration // Lana M.H. Wilder
“The moon is honey on the mouths of madmen”
— Guillaume Apollinaire, from Claire de Lune; Alcools: Poems (tr. by Donald Revell), 1913
Sometimes I think about how constellations are an entirely man-made construct and don’t actually exist inherently in nature. The universe just gave us stars, and we saw art and myths and stories in them. The capacity that humans have for seeing purpose in the incidental makes me realize just how lonely we are on this planet, desperately searching for meaning elsewhere in the universe.
you never truly appreciate the intimacy of the expression “I'll gut you like a fish” until you actually gut a fish
Historian, writer, and poet | proofreader and tarot card lover | Virgo and INTJ | dyspraxic and hypermobile | You'll find my poetry and other creative outlets stored here. Read my Substack newsletter Hidden Within These Walls. Copyright © 2016 Ruth Karan.
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