Mother, you have carried me
through tidal waves and stormy days
oh and your wisdom comes so naturally
and everyone knows you’re sweeter than tea
Mother, your spirit shows
through everything you do
you taught me to seek the Lord
and that’s why I love you
Like faithful oxen through the chalk,
With dragging tails of history walk.
Soon confuse the compass and the cross.
Carefully and cursively we fill our travelling diaries with loss.Beneath an angry Bible flood,
Did you and I first learn to love.
In my father’s car we came to know.
And shivered in our painted clothes and paired like every animal below.As heavy as a history book can be,
I will carry it with me, oh Lord.
And maybe when the bitterness has gone,
There’ll be sweetness on our tongues once more.Barefoot in a rowing boat,
You lose your shoes and freeze your toes.
And say I wear my sorrow like a crown.
And throw your arms around my head, and see it there in gold and red and brown.As heavy as a history book can be,
I will carry it with me, oh Lord.
And maybe when the bitterness has gone,
There’ll be sweetness on our tongues once more.We’ll soon forget our parents’ names,
Like dogs will drive the wolves away.
And weep with fingertips opposed,
Like a church where nobody congregates.But sweetness sings in the pasture,
We throw ourselves on the mercy of the earth.
If sand and salt have the answer,
Then the act itself will be louder than the word.And I’ll be on your side.
Oh God, I wonder who else was born in Eagleton — Voldemort, probably.
The expressive aspect of art, its emotional dimension, assumed paramount importance, especially in music and poetry, and it became almost a truism to say that all art is primarily expressive, and the more so the more inspired its origins. The view arose that all inspiration is good, and all musical and poetic works are equally worthwhile because they are “inspired.” The distinction between inspiration and truth became lost, and it remains so, the victim of the relativism that must attend all purely individual expressions of feeling. Art based on mere inspiration, therefore, or art which is pure venting, loses itself among the lures of particular phenomena. It differs from true art, which seeks for the universal, the archetypal: true art is “of the whole”. “To produce in beauty,” says Maritain, “the artist must be in love with beauty. Such undeviating love is a supra-artistic rule - a precondition, not sufficient as to the ways of making, yet necessary as to the vital animation of art- which is presupposed by all the rules of art.
| Me: | do you like me or something |
|---|---|
| Me: | do you feel bad for me |
| Me: | what's the ulterior motive |
| Me: | like a secret evil plot |
| Me: | WHAT ARE YOU UP TO |
(via piggymintz)
If I was a rock.
(via seabois)
I just have to post this every once in a while because it’s gorgeous. Also, it’s based of of Song of Songs. Go Solomon!
