Worth my hope

=0=0=0=

W e   A r e   W h i t e   A l l   R i g h t

Magnolia Cemetery

Augusta, Georgia

=0=0=0=

Stretch towards the moonless midnight of the trees

As though that hand could reach to where they stand,

And they but famous old upholsteries

Delightful to the touch; tighten that hand

As though to draw them closer yet.

Rammed full

Of that most sensuous silence of the night

(For since the horizon's bought strange dogs are still)

Climb to your chamber full of books and wait,

No books upon the knee and no one there

But a great dane that cannot bay the moon

And now lies sunk in sleep.

What climbs the stair?

Nothing that common women ponder on

If you are worth my hope! Neither Content

Nor satisfied Conscience, but that great family

Some ancient famous authors misrepresent,

The Proud Furies each with her torch on high.

= W.B. Yeats =

=0=0=0=

Happy Wednesday

Escaping one last time

=0=0=0=

F l i g h t i n g   C h a n c e

Magnolia Cemetery

Augusta, Georgia

=0=0=0=

Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There's always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh a beautiful release
Memories seep from my veins
Let me be empty
Oh and weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight

In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here

So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There's vultures and thieves at your back
And the storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lies
That you make up for all that you lack
It doesn't make no difference
Escaping one last time
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness, oh
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees

In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here

= Sarah McLachlan =

=0=0=0=

Happy Tuesday

Dream out the words

=0=0=0=

T h i n g s   A r e   L o o k i n g   U p

Old Mill

Lexington, South Carolina

=0=0=0=

Count o’er the million leagues from here to yonder star.
On then. On to the next count of a million more.
Sum up the myriad gleams that light the night;
Add too, the orbit where the cold bright moon doth soar.
That done, return to earth and with thy mind outline
That huge expanse called space; and then out from our Hearse
Of changing dust dream out the words -- The Universe.

= Joshua Henry Jones, Jr. =

=0=0=0=

Happy Monday

My home shall be eternal

=0=0=0=

A n g e l   B a n d

Elmwood Cemetery

Memphis, Tennessee

=0=0=0=

I'm kind of homesick for a country

To which I've never been before

No sad goodbyes will there be spoken

For time won't matter anymore.

Beulah Land, I'm longing for you

And someday on thee I'll stand

There my home shall be eternal

Beulah Land, sweet Beulah Land.

I'm looking now across the river

To where my faith shall end in sight

There's just a few more days to labor

Then I will take my heavenly flight.

Beulah Land, I'm longing for you

And someday on thee I'll stand

There my home shall be eternal

Beulah Land, sweet Beulah Land.

= Squire Parsons =

=0=0=0=

Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken; neither shall thy land

any more be termed Desolate: but thou shalt be called Hephzibah,

and thy land Beulah; for the LORD delighteth in thee,

and thy land shall be married.

Isaiah 62:4

=0=0=0=

Happy Sunday

The last of many last days

=0=0=0=

P l e a s e

Magnolia Cemetery

Augusta, Georgia

=0=0=0=

In heaven it is always autumn. The leaves are always near
to falling there but never fall, and pairs of souls out walking
heaven's paths no longer feel the weight of years upon them.
Safe in heaven's calm, they take each other's arm,
the light shining through them, all joy and terror gone.
But we are far from heaven here, in a garden ragged and unkept
as Eden would be with the walls knocked down, the paths littered
with the unswept leaves of many years, bright keepsakes
for children of the Fall. The light is gold, the sun pulling
the long shadow soul out of each thing, disclosing an outcome.
The last roses of the year nod their frail heads,
like listeners listening to all that's said, to ask,
What brought us here? What seed? What rain? What light?
What forced us upward through dark earth? What made us bloom?
What wind shall take us soon, sweeping the garden bare?
Their voiceless voices hang there, as ours might,
if we were roses, too. Their beds are blanketed with leaves,
tended by an absent gardener whose life is elsewhere.
It is the last of many last days. Is it enough?
To rest in this moment? To turn our faces to the sun?
To watch the lineaments of a world passing?
To feel the metal of a black iron chair, cool and eternal,
press against our skin? To apprehend a chill as clouds
pass overhead, turning us to shivering shade and shadow?
And then to be restored, small miracle, the sun shining brightly
as before? We go on, you leading the way, a figure
leaning on a cane that leaves its mark on the earth.
My friend, you have led me farther than I have ever been.
To a garden in autumn. To a heaven of impermanence
where the final falling off is slow, a slow and radiant happening.
The light is gold. And while we're here, I think it must be heaven.

= Elizabeth Spires =

=0=0=0=

Happy Saturday