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How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginnings of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.



So you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen, if a restiveness, like light and cloud shadows, passes over your hands and over all you do. You must think that something is happening with you, that it has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hands; it will not let you fall.





Rainer Maria Rilke

somewhere I have never traveled

gladly beyond any experience, your

eyes have their silence: in your

most frail gesture are things which

enclose me, or which I cannot

touch because they are too near



your slightest look easily will

enclose me though I have closed

myself as fingers, you open

always petal by petal myself as

spring opens (touching skillfully

mysteriously) her first rose



or if your wish be to close me, I

and my life will shut very

beautifully, suddenly, as when

the heart of this flower imagines

the snow everywhere descending

nothing which we are to

perceive in this world equal

the power of your intense fragility;

who texture compels me with the

color of its countries rendering

death and forever with each breathing



(I do not know what it is about

you that closes and opens; only

something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper

than all roses) nobody, not even

the rain, has such small hands





e.e. Cummings

COMMENTS

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Lordpeace
09:44 Jul 24 2009

i have always loved cummings the goat footed balloon man is a favorite

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POST COMMENT

Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove. Oh no it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark whose worth is known although his heights be taken



Love’s not time’s fool though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass come

Love alters not with its brief hours and weeks

But bares it out even to the edge of doom.



If this be error and upon me proved. I never writ – nor no man ever loved



Shakespeare