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 Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 8:50 am
Health is the greatest gift, contentment the greatest wealth, faithfulness the best relationship.
Buddha
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 8:51 am
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 8:53 am
spider—what is it,
what is it you are crying?
autumn wind
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 8:55 am
Love is not a thing to understand.
Love is not a thing to feel.
Love is not a thing to give and receive.
Love is a thing only to become
And eternally be.
- Sri Chinmoy
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 8:56 am
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all,
- Emily Dickinson
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 8:57 am
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
- Robert Frost
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 8:58 am
Love is a game that two can play and both win. ~Eva Gabor
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 8:59 am
Poetry spills from the cracks of a broken heart, but flows from one which is loved. ~Christopher Paul Rubero
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 9:00 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 9:02 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 9:03 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 9:04 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 9:05 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 9:06 am
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Posted: Mon Jul 07, 2014 9:07 am
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Reply
