“There are a hundred things she has tried to chase away the things she won’t remember and that she can’t even let herself think about because that’s when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in her mind it’s always raining a slow and endless drizzle.
You will hear that she has left the country, that there was a gift she wanted you to have, but it is lost before it reaches you. Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might be hers will say something that you cannot interpret before the connection crackles and is broken.
Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone in a doorway who looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again.
Whenever it rains you will think of her. ”
― Neil Gaiman
How you have spun whole worlds for
me between your fingers, cupped palms.
How you fed me, clothed me, taught me
the shape of trees and bodies and how
to brush my hair without hurting myself,
how I breathe only because you allowed
me to grow in your womb. Thank you for
the bed in your belly, mom. I am sorry for
the pale white scar on your abdomen,
for how I refused to let go, so they forced
you to let go of me first. I am sorry, too,
that I am not going to school to be a doctor
or a lawyer or some kind of engineer, but
your support is like the sun. Crucial. So
this is for your hands, those star-shaped
things that extend outward from your wrists,
that held me, that carried me, that love me.
You said I left scars on your hands, the
good kind that remind you of how things
were. When you open them and hold them
up to the light, I can see the faint outline
of a smaller heart in your palms. You smile,
close your fists. Tell me to never love
anyone without seeing their hands first.
My father could use a little mercy now
The fruits of his labor fall and rot slowly on the ground
His work is almost over it won’t be long, he won’t be around
I love my father, he could use some mercy now
My brother could use a little mercy now
He’s a stranger to freedom, he’s shackled to his fear and his doubt
The pain that he lives in it’s almost more than living will allow
I love my bother, he could use some mercy now
My church and my country could use a little mercy now
As they sink into a poisoned pit it’s going to take forever to climb out
They carry the weight of the faithful who follow them down
I love my church and country, they could use some mercy now
Every living thing could use a little mercy now
Only the hand of grace can end the race towards another mushroom cloud
People in power, they’ll do anything to keep their crown
I love life, and life itself could use some mercy now
Yeah, we all could use a little mercy now
I know we don’t deserve it but we need it anyhow
We hang in the balance, dangle ‘tween hell and hallowed ground
And every single one of us, could use some mercy now
Every single one of us could use some mercy now
Every single one of us could use some mercy now
Even if a day feels too long, and you feel like you can’t wait another one and you’re slowly giving up on everything, love is gonna find you again Love is gonna find you, you’d better be ready then.
Well you’ve been kneeling in the dark for far too long, You’ve been waiting for that spark, but it hasn’t come, Well I’m calling to you please, get off the floor Love is gonna find you again. love is gonna find you, you’d better be ready then.
Tethered to a bird of sorrow, a voice that’s buried in the hollow you’ve given over to self deceiving, you’re prostrate bowed but not believing you’ve squandered more than you could borrow you’ve bet your joys on all tomorrows, for the hope of some returning while everything around you is burning.
Come on, we gotta get out, get out of this mess we’ve made and still for all our talk, we’re both so afraid. And will we leave this up to chance, like we do with everything? A good heart will find you again A good heart will find you, just be ready then.
Tethered to a bird of sorrow, a voice that’s buried in the hollow you’ve given over to self deceiving, you’re prostrate bowed but not believing you’ve squandered more than you could borrow you’ve bet your joys on all tomorrows, for the hope of some returning while everything around you is burning but I’m not leaving you here, I’m not leaving you here, I’m not leaving
I’m not leaving you here, I’m not leaving I’m not leaving you here
I’m hanging on, oh I’m hanging on, for what’s gonna come I’m hanging on, I’m hanging on Hanging on, hanging on, hanging on, hanging on hanging on, with the faithful, with the faithful I’m hanging on, for what’s gonna come, for what’s gonna come I’m hanging on, I’m hanging on, with the faithful
The Starry Night, Vincent van Gogh, 1889. (public domain)
“At present I absolutely want to paint a starry sky. It often seems to me that night is still more richly coloured than the day; having hues of the most intense violets, blues and greens. If only you pay attention to it you will see that certain stars are lemon-yellow, others pink or a green, blue and forget-me-not brilliance. And without my expatiating on this theme it is obvious that putting little white dots on the blue-black is not enough to paint a starry sky.”
― Vincent van Gogh (30 March 1853 – 29 July 1890)
Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze, Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent’s eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand.
Words ... for the Time Being 