(no subject)

danger in happiness

now everything redounds to my best

now i love every destiny

who feels like being my destiny?

(no subject)

you go your way

i go mine

as for the right way

the only way

it does not exist

(no subject)

by three methods
we may learn wisdom

first, by reflection
which is noblest

second, by imitation
which is easiest

and third by experience
which is the bitterest.

(no subject)

It is there as potential?

What can one even say,

affirm or pretend anyway?

What about us being

the spark of fire,

the rivers of water,

the four directions,

the music and the silence,

smiling faces all around,

seeing our unawareness

and separation

but as shadows

cast by the light

(no subject)

another poem by miss mom. autotranslated...

the road goes around
Torup Castle
green grass wigs
edges the moat
the sun the long-awaited sun
fits perfectly
to the ydding race
lamb's ears lamb's ear hedge
inside is moses tree
where the leaves fold
upwards towards the light
the joy of the heart beckons
back and forth
and everyone falls down
it cracks in everyone
burning colors
the earth is red
autumn wants more
but can't bear it
the coffee thermos
has done its part
and filled his
travel meal
the swing of love
Standing still
want to calm down
down
like everything else
the gravel crackles
under the shoes
the water ripples
the speaker
soon worked
clearly in the background
a faint murmur
heard from
passing by
someone says hello
we are here
for you today
I enjoy
come and see
this warm
delayed
almost summer day
with grumble
the tract hangs
on the board from
year 1395

(no subject)

It occurs to me that the peculiarity

of most things we think of as fragile

is how tough they truly are.

There were tricks we did with eggs,

as children, to show how they were,

in reality, tiny load-bearing marble halls;

while the beat of the wings of a butterfly

in the right place, we are told, can create

a hurricane across an ocean.

Hearts may break,

but hearts are the toughest of muscles,

able to pump for a lifetime,

seventy times a minute,

and scarcely falter along the way.

Even dreams, the most delicate

and intangible of things,

can prove remarkable difficult to kill.

(no subject)

kill your parents
kill your god
kill your master