Poetry

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These are just a few little things I wrote. Nothing much, but I kind of like them.

In a rotten garden full of flies,
God came down and told us lies:
"All you are is what you seem,
"And what you are is but a dream."

Dancing in the wistful winds of wild
Is the beautiful suicide child.
Her life may seem a precious thing,
But she just needs her soul to sing.

Some things grab a part of your soul
So that you'll never feel whole
Until you find that something again:
Then that aching void will come to an end.

This is from Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet" which is amazingly beautiful (if legally this can't be on here, let me know and I'll remove it). Sometimes people ask me why I write about death (haven't included many poems 'bout that, really), and I always refer them to this, pg. 80 in my copy:

You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose night bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity....

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek god unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountaintop, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.