it seems to be "poetry day." i'm a bit too disgusted and self-conscious right now to write my own, but here is a lengthy passage (merely part of the whole) that i find utterly beautiful:
We are the sons of Sorrow, and you are the sons of Joy. We are the sons of Sorrow, and Sorrow is the shadow of a God who lives not in the domain of evil hearts.
We are sorrowful spirits, and Sorrow is too great to exist in small hearts. When you laugh, we cry and lament; and he who is seared and cleansed once with his own tears will remain pure forevermore.
You understand us not, but we offer our sympathy to you. You are racing with the current of the River of Life, and you do not look upon us; but we are sitting by the coast, watching you and hearing your strange voices.
You do not comprehend our cry, for the clamour of the days is crowding your ears, blocked with the hard substance of your years of indifference to the truth; but we hear your songs, for the whispering of the night has opened our inner hearts. We see you standing under the pointing finger of light, but you cannot see us, for we are tarrying in the enlightening darkness.
We are the sons of Sorrow; we are the poets and the prophets and the musicians. We weave raiment for the goddess from the threads of our hearts, and we fill the hands of the angels with the seeds of our inner selves.
You are the sons of the pursuit of earthly gaiety. You place your hearts in the hands of emptiness, for the hand's touch to emptiness is smooth and inviting.
You reside in the house of Ignorance, for in his house there is no mirror in which to view your souls.
We sigh, and from our sighs arise the whispering of flowers and the rustling of leaves and the murmur of rivulets.
-Kahlil Gibran
We are the sons of Sorrow, and you are the sons of Joy. We are the sons of Sorrow, and Sorrow is the shadow of a God who lives not in the domain of evil hearts.
We are sorrowful spirits, and Sorrow is too great to exist in small hearts. When you laugh, we cry and lament; and he who is seared and cleansed once with his own tears will remain pure forevermore.
You understand us not, but we offer our sympathy to you. You are racing with the current of the River of Life, and you do not look upon us; but we are sitting by the coast, watching you and hearing your strange voices.
You do not comprehend our cry, for the clamour of the days is crowding your ears, blocked with the hard substance of your years of indifference to the truth; but we hear your songs, for the whispering of the night has opened our inner hearts. We see you standing under the pointing finger of light, but you cannot see us, for we are tarrying in the enlightening darkness.
We are the sons of Sorrow; we are the poets and the prophets and the musicians. We weave raiment for the goddess from the threads of our hearts, and we fill the hands of the angels with the seeds of our inner selves.
You are the sons of the pursuit of earthly gaiety. You place your hearts in the hands of emptiness, for the hand's touch to emptiness is smooth and inviting.
You reside in the house of Ignorance, for in his house there is no mirror in which to view your souls.
We sigh, and from our sighs arise the whispering of flowers and the rustling of leaves and the murmur of rivulets.
-Kahlil Gibran
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
happycherries:
I was hoping to "talk" to you I saw you on chat today but you took off before I got the chance. I'm sorry you're bummed
cureelise:
very soothing and calming to me at the moment. sorrow seems to be a huge part of my days now , and i feel that most people don't get or understand it. some people would rather not feel it, but for me it's helping and kind of a comfort.