ETF


What I Wish My Parents Would Have Told Me (06/20/13)

What I Wish My Parents Would Have Told Me (06/20/13)

(Source: battlewhispers)

Even the wind wants
to become a cart
pulled by butterflies.

I remember madness
leaning for the first time
on the mind’s pillow.
I was talking to my body then
and my body was an idea
I wrote in red.

Red is the sun’s most beautiful throne
and all the other colors
worship on red rugs.

Night is another candle.
In every branch, an arm,
a message carried in space
echoed by the body of the wind.

The sun insists on dressing itself in fog
when it meets me:
Am I being scolded by the light?

Oh, my past days -
they used to walk in their sleep
and I used to lean on them.

Love and dreams are two parentheses.
Between them I place my body
and discover the world.

Many times
I saw the air fly with two grass feet
and the road dance with feet made of air.

My wishes are flowers
staining my days.

I was wounded early,
and early I learned
that wounds made me.

I still follow the child
who still walks inside me.

Now he stands at a staircase made of light
searching for a corner to rest in
and to read the face of night again.

If the moon were a house,
my feet would refuse to touch its doorstep.

They are taken by dust
carrying me to the air of seasons.

I walk,
one hand in the air,
the other caressing tresses
that I imagine.

A star is also
a pebble in the field of space.

He alone
who is joined to the horizon
can build new roads.

A moon, an old man,
his seat is night
and light is his walking stick.

What shall I say to the body I abandoned
in the rubble of the house
in which I was born?
No one can narrate my childhood
except those stars that flicker above it
and that leave footprints
on the evening’s path.

My childhood is still
being born in the palms of a light
whose name I do not know
and who names me.

Out of that river he made a mirror
and asked it about his sorrow.
He made rain out of his grief
and imitated the clouds.

Your childhood is a village.
You will never cross its boundaries
no matter how far you go.

His days are lakes,
his memories floating bodies.

You who are descending
from the mountains of the past,
how can you climb them again,
and why?

Time is a door
I cannot open.
My magic is worn,
my chants asleep.

I was born in a village,
small and secretive like a womb.
I never left it.
I love the ocean not the shores.

- Adonis : Celebrating Childhood

Hope, Do You Find Strength?
by Shinji Moon

Hey Hope, do you hear me? 
I’ve been meaning to talk to you for days now
about something or another, about the way
my hands feel too small when I screw them on in the morning
as if I can’t hold anything in them
that doesn’t drain through the bottoms.
Hope, do you hear me?

I’ve been trying to call but the last few digits of your number
are smudged by my last boy’s rain, and I keep clinging
to a flat line that doesn’t exist 
but still I feel you pump my lungs
when I’m toppled over into myself with my knees rubbing
against my chest like I’m a cricket who lost its meter, and
Hope, I want you to know
that I believe in you like I believe in the soft heart
of my sister, who tumbled the glass of our childhood
with her palms so that I would never have to tread on anything
but a sea glass world, and

Hope, I want you to know
that I am here — thin wrists and gawky words
and screwed on limbs.
I am here. Listening. 
With every ounce of my fist sized heart.
I am here.

Hope, do you find strength? 
Do you know if its in season?
Because I’m trying to bake together a beautiful world
and the neighbors won’t lend
a cup or two to make this 
goddamn dough rise.

Dickinson says it best

Dickinson says it best

"I know what is happening today and what happened yesterday, but I cannot tell what tomorrow will bring. I have seen the Fates stamp like a camel in the dark; those they touch they kill, and those they miss live on to grow old."

"I know what is happening today and what happened yesterday, but I cannot tell what tomorrow will bring. I have seen the Fates stamp like a camel in the dark; those they touch they kill, and those they miss live on to grow old."