A Tide In the Affairs of Men

To be alive at all is to have scars

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Stars Die Alone

If I do not smile any more
I think it is because
I just realized that
Stars die alone

Sometimes I imagine
That stars are souls
Or at the least beings
Born before humanity

And all they want
Is to send their light
To guide our way
And give us hope

But they never know
That children wish
And painters paint
And lovers watch

We see their light
Long after they send it
Like a gift received
After they are gone

And at their end
They are alone
For we only see death
After it has happened

Their light goes out
And they drift into
A state of nothing
Almost worse than death

And I think people are like that
We send out our love
To those who do not know
And to those who do not care

And our love fades like starlight
Waning until it just disappears
And we become nothing
Which is worse than death

—Mark Strickland Vining

Filed under poetry my writing spilled ink

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The Good, the Bad, and the In-between

I have never been able to distinguish
The line between good and bad
Blurred vision always has me tip-toeing
Stumbling, falling this way and that
And always finding an in-between
A place where morality is malleable
Flexible, for who are we but evolving,
Ever-changing beings, discovering ourselves
And what footprints we want to leave
I find both good and bad in your eyes
Your lips, your hips, and your actions
But when I meet you in the in-between
That place where angels and demons meet
Where divinity is transparent and yet awe-inspiring
I do not see your halo or the sins that lost it
I see you, only you, and that is enough

—Mark Strickland Vining

Filed under poetry my writing spilled ink

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You’re not perfect, sport, and let me save you the suspense: this girl you’ve met, she’s not perfect either. But the question is whether or not you’re perfect for each other.
Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting (1997)

(Source: larmoyante, via miss--davis)

1 note

I want to taste the earth

I want to taste the earth
In your skin, your humanity
Your elements, your nature
I want to walk in your garden
Smelling the rows of flowers
A myriad of divine scents
Mirroring the secrets of Eden
To dive in your hidden pools
Your unfathomed depths
To feel you cling to my skin
Burn my eyes like the noon sun
And cool me like the evening wind
Let me hear the night sing
With the sounds of your pleasure
Give me every ounce of morning
The dew, the chill, the rebirth

—Mark Strickland Vining

Filed under poetry my writing spilled ink

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My Eyes Were Always Looking

Lie still by my side
Count the infinite stars, love
Count the skipped beats
Of my finite heart, listen
Hear how it longs to be
Among those immortal stars,
A tiny candle in a dark sky
But a guide for weary souls
A spark for the wandering mind
Searching for life outside itself
Listen again, for that unsure beat
Matching the unsteady mind
Be the word that calms the seas
Be a match that starts a fire
Know you are the star, my dear,
For which my eyes were always looking

—Mark Strickland Vining

Filed under poetry my writing spilled ink

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Witching Hour

As I sit and watch you sleep
In that midnight hour, still awake
Bewitched by your rhythmic breathing
Entranced by the energy in the air
And the sound of the ghost train
Unable to fully close my eyes
For fear that you will disappear
Taken away on the same wind
That brought you to me in the first place
I make blood pacts with devils
And recite poetry like spells
If only to keep you here with me
But the real magic is not physical
It is the amnesia you give me
A break in the storm when I see sky
Forgetting the hours of destruction
Only remembering the witching hour
When all is possible and we are all

—Mark Strickland Vining

Filed under poetry my writing spilled ink

1,500 notes

Make your own Bible. Select and collect all the words and sentences that in all your readings have been to you like the blast of a trumpet.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (via kushandwizdom)