Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Flames


Flames

Busy-ness is a fire:
Life burns
    slowly
And what is found within
is harsh work.
I don’t know what it is
    To rest;
I only know fire.
I only know weary,
    dazed, listlessly-tiring
labor.
And the flames of it burn
my flesh to cinders
    and my soul to ash.

Blossom


Blossom


For the mind to be wrought with beauty,
It first must beauty be:
The flowering apple blossoms
On already blushing trees;
Then rosy petals start blooming
With the utmost of ease,
And then the aroma sweetens,
—And then—come the bees…