June 9, 2009
Word Count (5,419)
Who decides what is considered good poetry? We learn that sociologists of literature study these things through a social and political process. These thoughts are based off of how we value things and why. But most importantly, we’ve learned that anyone who can speak thoughts can write poetry and I very strongly agree with this notion.
My writing has been nothing short of a journey over the course of the past few weeks. I’ve learned that I can write about anything. Objects have developed more meaning into my thoughts.
What is poetry? I begin my “Ars Poetica” by thinking on paper. I begin by defining in terms of what I believe poetry is not. Poetry is so many things.
My writing will reflect my thoughts about my favorite quotation. This is a quote I live by daily because life is just too short and it goes by so fast. If I can notice this at such young age… How much faster will it go by when I am old?
“Life is too short to be anything but happy. So kiss slowly, Loved deeply, forgive quickly, take chances, and never regret the past” (unknown author)
Silence changes meaning. So speak up. What you and I have to say is important and will bring meaning into something or another.
Have you ever felt like you were fighting fate? Everyone does this. Stop it. The universe is trying to tell you something. OPEN YOUR EYES. Everything you want is right in front of you. You ask for this repeatedly. Its all you think about. Its all you wish for. All that floods your head during your dreams. All you have to do is open your eyes.
It caught me off guard. That’s what I love. As contrary to my personality, I do not love it any other way.
I begin by bringing in some real life experiences from my waitressing job at Gill Street. We have also spent a great deal of class time talking about translations. I speak Polish. I brought some of that into my writing.
What poetry does in the world… MAKES LIFE BETTER. You are the beholder. What does poetry do for you? It changes my attitude and thoughts. It makes me laugh.
A LINE I HAVE LEARNED TO LIVE BY:
“why are you so happy all the time”
Oh that’s simple… I just don’t think!
Have you ever read something so terribly disgruntling that it made you think in a new way? To maybe even look at things differently?
I want to learn to be a writer that moves people. A writer that writes with a purpose. That everyone will want to read, that everyone will wait to read.
I want to create language so beautiful it obliterates all negativity out of the world. Out of existence. Demolishes and destroys all anger, frustration, and apathy. Lethargic individuals will cease to exist.
My writing will be mellifluous, whether it is discovered now… or years from now. It can be used as the sweetener in your hot tea in the morning. Someone will appreciate and relate back to my thoughts. My hopes are that the reader can make analytical inferences about the writing. That the reader makes a new light from what I had to say. If I provoke a new thought, it will be successful. If you find my writing abysmal, put it down. I do not wish for you to be tortured the way I was at one time. I want it to only bring pleasure and laugher. At least you acknowledged it. At least you gave it the time of day. I thank you my reader for that.
My writing will not be uncouth. I am a perfectionist. I write what I believe and I will not write what I do not love. It will not appear strange or clumsy in any way. It will not lack in polish or grace
What does poetry do in the world? Just laugh at it. There is nothing more unfunny than analyzing a joke. Let’s just leave it at that. (Notes from class)
I tried to take something simple and turn it into something great. For example, a leaf. People walk pass them every single day. They do not even notice or pay attention. I want my writing to stop these people and make them notice the leaf. I want them to notice details. I want them to notice colors and shades and everything that leaf has to offer before walking past it. Maybe that leaf can provide something insightful.
I also was inspired by writers such as Edson, who puts two words together, that make no sense and tries to create a story or fable to solve the mystery. I enjoyed reading these fables and decided to use this approach to write some of the repressed emotions I have been feeling about myself.
I would hope that eventually my writing encourages people to have a positive outlook on life. To forgive those who hurt them. To be a friendly neighbor and not waste food. To give to the less fortunate. Not to fear emptiness or being alone. Embrace it. Get something out of it.
You are walking to your car… Oh look, Look at that shiny green envelope propped to the windshield of your automobile. Giggling that you didn’t notice the one hour only sign. Laugh back. Well, if I’m going to get parking tickets… I might as well park closer next time.
Writing is most importantly to express the things that matter. Even if only to you.
I am taking this Ars Poetica as an opportunity to meander with my thoughts… And feel. Feel what I feel on paper. To take everything I have and translate it into words.
Random. Strangeness. Weird and random all wrapped into one blanket. Covers your sanity and holds your thoughts from becoming over analytical.
So complex, yet so beautiful. Stop. Just enjoy it. Laugh at it. Laugh with it.
How can we define poetry? I would like to begin by defining it in terms of what I believe it is not.
What isn’t poetry?
Poetry is not the Teen People magazine laying on my night stand. Those articles are just drama and gossip. But is gossip poetry?
Teenage girls giggling through the hallways of their high school.
He said… She said… Did you hear? And then they were like… I so totally told you so!!
Like, I'm so sure. That valley girl talk. Girl Talk. IF it’s supposed to make you laugh, and it does, isn’t it poetry?
Poetry is not the lyrics to my favorite song, but it can be the movement performed by the dancers.
Ballet. Swing. Latin. Tango. Salsa. Hip-hop. Samba. Rumba. Jive. Tap. Waltz. Quickstep. Cha-Cha. Paso Doble. Dancing takes tremendous skill and can be a workout. But a workout is not poetry.
Yes, the art of dance is definitely poetry.
Poetry can be two words put together that don’t make sense.
Paint Banana. Shoe glasses. Television purse. Horse Monkey. Chalk diaper. Nail-polish feathers.
The more confusing, the more successful because it complicates and boggles the mind into generating unique, weird, yet interesting thoughts.
Poetry can be an acronym of your name:
Poetry is looking at something and creating a story.
My mind wonders when I am at work. Particularly on Monday nights when it’s slow and I have no tables.
Look at the drunk man standing at the bar. He is a regular here and comes in just about every day. He always orders the specials and sits at the same old stool each day.
He has these specials memorized, but our specials are not poetry.
The bartender appreciates his gracious tips as he continues to make his sarcastic comments to entertain the drunk. He also cracks a few jokes hoping for someone to slip him a little extra green at the end of the day.
I wonder why the drunk man comes here every day. Where is his family and what do they think of him? Do the children wonder when Daddy is coming home? Do they wonder why they haven’t gotten their allowance lately? Why isn’t he home helping his wife put dinner on the table? He utters degrading terms in reference to his wife.
The telephone rings. And he has the nerve to stop in the middle of his sentence and say “yes dear, I will be home shortly.” He has no intent of doing so. Why is he avoiding home life?
It is Monday. He orders another Miller Lite on Draft.
He loves domestics. But a list of domestic beers is not poetry either.
Bud Lite, Bud Select, Miller Lite, Coors Lite, MGD.
A list of beer cannot be poetry.
I wonder of all the stupid moments that were executed as a result of intoxication. I wonder if for every beer consumed by this drunken individual is a sip closer to resolving repressed issues of personal distress. Has every consumed beer been responsible for a much regretted action later to follow?
A list of beer is not poetry. But each drink contains many thoughts and can tell many stories of many drunken moments of many many people.
Church. Is church a poem?
Poetry can definitely be the prayers I say in church.
But the most beautiful of all religious poetry is the act of contrition.
O MY GOD, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell; but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who art all-good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen.
This reminds me of the first prayer my mother ever taught me. Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love, commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to rule and guard, to love and guide, AMEN.
Except… when I learned it, I learned it in Polish:
Anioł Boży, mój kochany opiekuna, do którego miłość Boga, zobowiązuje mnie tu kiedykolwiek się tego dnia na mojej stronie, do rządów i straży, do miłości i przewodnika
The polish version is also a poem.
In Polish, we do not use definite articles. We just go to store.
We repeated this every night together until I learned to do it on my own. We would do it once in English. Then again in Polish.
Poetry moves people. It changes the way people think. It is a unique and more elegant way to convey a message or tell a story. It can make you laugh and it can make you cry.
Jokes are funny. They make me laugh, but jokes are not poetry.
Poetry is literature. Shakespeare is poetry: There are no greater stars than those that are your eyes
Huck Finn. His story is literature, but he is not poetry nor is his story.
There are no wrong answers to poetry, the poet should practice all techniques until finding the right channel. If a limerick template is what work best, then that is what the poet should use to get his message across to the world.
Poetry is beauty.
Beauty is the bouquet arrangement I purchased for my mother on Mother’s Day. They flowers are gorgeous, but they are not poetry. The story of how much it meant to my mom to receive flowers and feel special… That is poetry.
Poetry is feeling. Poetry is not only A feeling, but feelings in themselves.
Poetry is beauty. But it is not the beautiful models displayed in the window of a Victoria’s secret store.
Poetry is breath taking. But it is not the breath taking three stone platinum diamond engagement ring in a precious teal Tiffany’s box wrapped in pearl silk ribbon.
Poetry is the romantic speech given by a man asking for his future bride’s hand in marriage.
Poetry is the vows exchanged between the two on their wedding day.
Poetry can be two words. I DO.
But I’m Always a Shoe
-I’m always a shoe. I’m always a shoe. I’m always a shoe. I’m always a shoe.
-I wanted to be a fire hydrant, and attract all of the dogs. Particularly Dalmatians. I wanted to be red, but I’m always a shoe.
-I wanted to be maple syrup, so the people could pour me on their pancakes at IHOP, but I’m always a shoe.
-I wanted to be sweet. Nerds Wonka candy… and brings smiles to their faces. Cavities to their teeth, BUT I’m always a shoe.
-I wanted to be tequila, to count to four, hit the floor and make clothes fall off, But I’m always a shoe.
-Tonight, I studied all night long… I will get that A. I wanted to be studious, But I’m always a shoe.
-Today, I wanted to be a purse. A really fancy purse. Today I wanted to be Prada, not Gucci. But I’m always a shoe.
I’m always a shoe. I’m always a shoe. I’m always a shoe. I’m always a shoe.
-I wanted to be a football. To be the center of attention on a Friday night. To bring people together for a common goal. To be the reason athletes maintain above a B average weekly with academics. To play the game. But I’m always a shoe.
-I wanted to be traffic. The light, the cars, the honks. I wanted to make people lose their minds, to arrive late at their work meeting, to be the reason people sit in their cars for hours at a time. I wanted to show them “SO WHAT” It’s not that big of a deal. I wanted to show everyone patience. Instead, I’m just a shoe.
I’m just a shoe, I’m just a shoe.
I wanted to be a glove… To cover up the middle finger thrown my way when I wanted to be traffic, but I was too busy being a shoe.
I wanted my parents to be proud of me today. I wanted to show them how hard I work. Instead, They noticed my shoes.
***What happens when 23 minds work together? Strangeness weirdness peculiarity of thoughts. Millions of thoughts roaming around like particles. Different perceptions.
A poem written in class May 26, 2009.
We are not like the rivers in the doors of your classroom.
Or an ear that rings, no rains (rings did not sound right) tigers in soup
Or the marmot
Or cheetos that explode your fingers, or dust your fingers
Or half eaten apples
Or cheeto dust in the corner of the sky
Or morticians (but we are very much like morticians)
Or hair dryers that suck
Or curtain rods that cut bulls
He is EVERYWHERE.
Take a look up. Take a look around you. Take a look at your neighbor. He is your neighbor. Take a look at your living room. He is sitting on the couch with you.
Grandpa Walter passed away a few years ago. He is with Him too.
He gives you your dreams when you sleep at night.
I look up at the sky and I see him peaking through the clouds. He is the sun setting. The magenta rays bursting out to reach me. This is the bumble bee in the middle of a thunderstorm. The lily in my bouquet of flowers.
Frumpy, bitter old lady. She complains a lot. Cats run away from her house. No one talks to her. They look the other way. Why is she so miserable? HE is testing you. Will you cuss her out? Roll your eyes? Or kill her with your kindness?
I see a beggar. I am driving down the expressway and I get off on the Ashland exit going on i55 North. His clothes are torn. The holes in his clothing allow me to see the burns on his flesh. Mud on his pants. No shoes. Holding a sign… “Will work for money” “Have not eaten in 13 days” How did you learn how to spell? This guy will just buy booze with it. WRONG. He is testing you again. The man was harmless.
Adoption. A chance at life. He is the adopted child and He is the family who took him in. Is the child better off… not knowing his biological parents? He is the biological parents.
He is the book that changed your life. He is the author, He is the message. He has inspired. What till you do with that knowledge? It is not about how much you know… it is what you will DO with what you know.
He is your teacher. He did not teach you all the Presidents of the United States of America, He taught you the skills to FIND that information. He invoked your literacy. You read. You write. You listen. You comprehend. You analyze. You speak. You do this well. And HE gave it to you.
He is the car you drive to work every day. Transportation. You are very lucky that you do not have to walk eight miles to work every day. Our ancestors did. He is with our ancestors. You are also lucky you have a job to drive to.
He is your boss at work. He calls you out when you are wrong. You need to know when you are wrong. You are not ALL KNOWING. Only He is.
He is the actor in your favorite television show. He has gone a long way and you idolize him.
HE is the pet you always wanted as a child. You asked your mom and dad every day for that puppy. You sold lemonade to raise money for that puppy. You wanted that puppy more than anything else when you were ten years old.
The fruit basket on your kitchen table, healthy, nutritious, and sweet.
He is your little niece of nephew. A new baby, a new life.
He is the obese person you made fun of yesterday. Again. He is testing you. Apparently you failed yesterday.
He is your transcript. How hard have you been working this semester?
He is your picture scrap book, your memories, all the good times.
He is the clock in your living room. Time… Eternity.
He is the remote control. This small device, a single unit of technology hold much much power… yet YOU control what it does. Change the channel. Turn up the volume. Turn the DVD player on.
HE is a blanket. Sometimes you want to hide from the world. That’s ok. You can still turn to Him.
He is a mirror. Take a look at the person looking back at you. Are you happy with who you see. You can still change this. You have that control.
Appreciate it. Acknowledge it.
EMILY DICKINSON CENTO
A Thought went up my mind today (701)
The Life we have is very great (1162)
God made no act without a cause (1163)
Gratitude- is not the mention (989)
Your Riches taught me Poverty (299)
I think to Live –may be a Bliss (646)
An ear can break a human heart (1764)
I heard, as if I had no Ear (1039)
The eye inquires with a sigh (1642)
As other Creatures that have Eyes (327)
The Soul’s distinct connection (974)
The farthest Thunder that I heard (1581)
Embodied scarcely to itself (680)
Of God we ask one favor (1601)
I cannot live with You (640)
Take all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy (1640)
The Heart has many doors (1567)
Because that death is final (1260)
Apparently with no surprise (1624)
To try to speak, and miss the way (1617)
I fear a Silent Man (543)
Good night, because we must (114)
The going from a world we know (1603)
Makes not as much of song (1636)
As innocent as June (1568)
Of Death I try to think like this (1558)
“Heavenly Father” –take to thee (1461)
You cannot make Remembrance grow (1508)
But it is rising ever Day (1507)
The Grave and that Eternity (1503)
If in that Room a Friend await (1760)
To say good-by to men (1761)
The majesties of Earth (1691)
Is every one I meet (1073)
Ah, too it has a wing (1763)
Like hungry dogs (1694)
An Ecstasy discreet (1641)
Soul, Wilt thou toss again? (139)
The name of it is Love (1438)
It bears away in triumph (1445)
The healed Heart shows its shallow scar (1440)
No Passenger was known to flee (1406)
And putting Love away (1078)
As Summer into Autumn slips (1346)
His Heart was darker than the starless night (1378)
For Largest Woman’s Heart I knew (309)
A little Snow was here and there (1444)
How soft a Caterpillar steps (1448)
Enacts intoxication (1359)
But the Heart withdraws (1357)
Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower (134)
My flowers raise their pretty lips (133)
The morning lit –the Birds arose (198)
And when at Night – Our good Day done- (754)
Eternity will be (1295)
The Heaven we chase (319)
The Butterfly in honored Dust (1246)
A deeper twilight on the lawn (140)
In thy long Paradise of Light (1145)
On this long storm the Rainbow rose (194)
Between the form of Life and Life (1101)
Here, where the Daisies fit my Head (1037)
Too mighty for the Daily mind (1323)
The only Ghost I ever saw (274)
You’ll know Her –by Her Voice (634)
She went as quiet as the dew (149)
When it comes, the Landscape listens (258)
It might have been the Light House spark (259)
A little Madness in the Spring (1333)
Was never blown away (1561)
Is bliss then, such Abyss (340)
Bliss is the plaything of the child (1553)
Our little secret slink away (1326)
Ourselves we do inter with sweet derision (1144)
Much Flowers of this and further Zones (978)
The Moon was but a Chin of Gold (737)
In which We first experienced Light (940)
The Sun kept stooping – stooping – low! (152)
What shall I do when the Summer troubles (956)
It is an honorable Thought (946)
Is Heaven a Physician? (1270)
Safe Despair it is that raves (1243)
Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself (1297)
I cannot see my soul but know ‘tis there (1262)
On the World you colored (1171)
One Life of so much Consequence (270)
After great pain, a formal feeling comes (341)
This World is not Conclusion (501)
What is “paradise” (215)
To be alive – is Power (677)
The whole of me – forever (275)
Lorine Niedecker Cento
Let’s play a game (117)
Tell me a story about the war (118)
I spent my money (90)
To inspect his forty acres (98)
Ash woods, willow, close to shore (93)
Witnesses judged him as good as the average (97)
It looked me dead in the face (100)
There’s better shine (101)
They came at a pace (103)
Good-bye to lilacs by the door (107)
At times I sit in the dunes (108)
Instead of shaded here (134)
Hummingbirds fly (128)
Look close (129)
A working man appeared in the street (115)
Lonely woman, not prompted (115)
Terrible things coming up (119)
People want to live in em (119)
I’m not young (135)
Understand me, dead is nothing (138)
To know, to love… if we knew nothing (139)
How bright you’ll find young people (139)
The young ones go away to school (140)
In the great snowfall before the bomb (142)
I sit for two months on six lines (143)
Not all that’s heard is music. We leave (143)
My friend the black and white collie (159)
At right, six lines, no child should hear more (144)
It would be good (145)
His eyes are clear in this air (146)
High, lovely, light (131)
Can knowledge be conveyed that isn’t felt? (15)
All children begin with the life of the mind (153)
Two doors to close two openings (155)
When the leaves fall (156)
I am sick with the Time’s buying sickness (157)
I need a piano (157)
The death of my poor father (157)
In the picture soldiers (164)
Energy glows at the lips (162)
From Croatia my home to Moelling no pay (160)
At Bergen built roads tied to a pot (165)
My daughters left home (165)
She grew where every spring (166)
Tall, thin, took cold on her nerves (166)
I sit in my own house (167)
Along the river wild sunflowers (168)
He moved in light (168)
He lived-childhood summers (169)
Original Line: Love is the great good use one person makes of another
Love is bringing out the best in the other. Love is having your counterpart compliment everything about yourself.
French: L'amour est le plus grand profit une personne fait d'un autre
Polish: Miłość jest jak największe korzyści osoby innej
German: Liebe ist der größte Vorteil eine andere Person
Back into English: Love is the greatest advantage another person
Does love mean one is capable of taking the greatest advantage of another person? Or one is able or allowed to? Does it work both ways?
Original Line: I lay down with brilliance I saw a star whistle across the sky before dropping off
Spanish: Me acosté con brillantez vi un silbato estrellas en el cielo antes de caer fuera
Greek: Κοιμήθηκα με το σφύριγμα είδε ένα λαμπρό αστέρι στον ουρανό πριν από την πτώση στα ανοικτά
Hungarian: Lefeküdtem whistle láttam egy fényes csillag az égen, mielőtt leesésének
Norwegian: Jeg lå med en fløyte så en lysende stjerne på himmelen før fallende
Translated back into English: I was with a whistle as a bright star in the sky before falling
Childhood. Random thoughts go through my head. Premises to solve:
I am FOUR.
The remote control declared friendship with the frog. It wanted to play… lonely buttons of utter important disintegrating my orange jello. The frog was not happy about this. He really enjoyed eating the orange jello with me .
The bison climbed my couch.
The soldier approved my foolish jacket.
The mouse abducted a fairy. He was also seeking a friend. The fairy was a very wise critter that accompanied his prepossessing ways.
The gypsy flew with a boomerang. She envied the witch on television flying over the town on her broomstick. Boomerang. Yeah that will do. The gypsy loved it.
The buttermilk cosmetics cried for the souwer.
The promiscuous grass defended the crackers. The animal crackers. The elephant, the monkeys, the orangutans, giraffes, the circus and maybe even the zoo.
The lime feather marched to the cow. It wasn’t the color of a lime. But the flavor of a lime.
The goose’s bladder asked for some cheese. Not cheddar, American, provolone, jack, pepper jack, swiss, or mozzarella. He asked for some string cheese. In cubes please.
The toilet requested a manicure. Fancy fancy fancy.
I am FIVE.
The joker picked up a doily. Mother will not be happy. My cup has now left rings around the table.
The barbeque sauce glimmered with cinnamon flavored forests.
The dolphin wore cashmere flip flops and played bagpipes. It was a talented dolphin that also sang songs to me. HE knew show tunes as well as Mother goose rhymes. My favorite was the one about the ants.
The dandelion vomited a dime. Then some pennies and nickels. I would have enjoyed some quarters.
The brick cuddled with me and my imaginary friend.
The lake bluffed to the crows.
The balcony’s discomfort adapted lamps.
The lion’s diagnosed the kites with hyperactivity.
The hammer imagined the crumbs and wiped his butt with a leaf.
I am SIX
The candle stick declared a circus.
The mustard filled the cigarette.
The envelope sang with the crickets.
The goat danced in camouflage
The cliff approved the fly.
The clown gambled away the bandages.
The electricity escaped the ingredients.
The elephant cautioned to the ants.
The promiscuous cattle went to the airport.
Oh the places our minds can wander at a young age.
WHY IS A LEAF GREEN??
I took a walk through the quad today and I spotted a forest green leaf. It was like a pirate grabbing my attention with his hook, so I picked it up. It told me a story… Oh, how I loved this leaf. It taught me all of the essentials, with just one conversation. “I can do many things” this leaf said to me… and let my colors tell you.
Army green, Camouflage green, Fern green, Hunter green, Kelly green, Lime green, Pear green, Sea green, Spring green, Tea green, Teal, Grass green, Electric Green, Jungle green
The leaf laughed at superstitions. The shamrock is a mockery of luck. There is no such thing.
The color of health. Eat asparagus and green vegetables and be nutritious. My colors can do that for you.
If royalty could be green, it would be Emerald. Emerald green.
It reminded me of many treasures we have taken for granted. Think about everything that is produced and created because of forests: Paper, pencils, maple syrup, wood, furniture, because of forest green. Most importantly… Oxygen. Breath. I give you life.
Welcome the green of the night. Mid night green.
Understand what no one else does. Fungus, mildew, vomit, because that’s important too… Moss green.
There is green in a martini glass. An olive.
The green of the holidays. Easter egg green. Christmas tree green. Envy?? Is there a connection here?
The feelings that green makes you feel: ambition, greed, and jealousy.
Green affects us. It affects us physically and mentally. It soothes. It relaxes. It harmonizes.
This leaf was no ordinary leaf that I picked up. It was practically deteriorated. It had many flaws, but Every line, hole, rip, tear, meant something. Every line, hole, rip, tear told a story. A story about that leaf’s life.
This bare little leaf had nothing left but his own honesty. The Honesty of a leaf. It cannot hide anything.. It Shows you every line, every hole, every imperfection. It shows it all. Doesn’t hide anything.
The color of nature. This leaf taught me many things. It spoke stories of growth, harmony, and freshness. I spoke of safety and security. It knew many associations to money.
This leaf is my new friend. We continued our conversation. He said:
“Someone stepped on me yesterday, I am stepped on all the time. All the time people step on me…
I thought about getting mad, but anger is not for me.
It is not my style… Anger is not my style.
Anger is not for me. Anger is not for me.
That’s how I got to be here. Not by plane. Not by boat. Not by foot. No not Nike express…. But I got here by the bottom of your shoe.
Then I told him: I am still a shoe.
This leaf wanted to reach out to all:
For those who have traveled overseas
For those who haven’t left their state
For those who eat caviar and pate
For those who eat Doritos fritos cheetos and everything else that is part of the EETOS family
For those who wear cashmere for those who
From blue collars to white collars
To her, to him, to them, to us
Me, you- all pigments of the universe
No matter who you are look at this leaf look at the line…..
Listen to a couple argue
From one generation to another generation
For the one who sees things as if for the first time
Listen to the message the leaf is sending. Listen closely… The leaf knows.
For the one who has experienced the greatest possible loss, if she still sees in the utter most positive, beautiful, loving way… and she still wants to change the world for the better, you have no excuse. There is no excuse for you not to see the greatness you have in front of you
If he can still appreciate it, value, welcome, understand it, he who has experienced death, not first hand, but second hand… A broken family.
Emptiness. But he still sees. He still sees the beauty. An appreciation of greatness. Yes the greatness is that rip… that tear, that hole. That greatness of a leaf.
Can you appreciate it? Do you see it??