Write your story, morning glory,
and burst forth to the day
For the one you tell shall be your knell
That lasts beyond the may.
For though tonight you weep your cause
To keep the secret true,
It won’t be long, my dear, be strong
When rue gives birth
There are some things that put your day into perspective. Like death, and life. Like getting through life, and truly living. Call it what you will; the call does not cease. It finds you, the homing beacon, quick and relentless, as arrows after their aim. And once you’ve pricked your ears you are never, ever the same. Still, the choice remains: Hamlet’s burning quest/question.
I am glad your words were shared with the world, Abdul-Rahman Kassig.
A humbling experience:
“Begin from where you are,”
heard the little bird
whispered the star
Henceforth did she begin
To live a life half-interior
Exploring mountain, valley
Naming not one inferior
Until, one day, some day, a hiding place
A cave hid in the Giant’s face
To find her treasure there;
Face to face,
With her star in a trough laid bare.
Not a matter of forgetting
Nor of hiding away, unseen
For you are alive and well,
Part of the parts that cast a spell
A chapter in a book on a shelf
A photo in a frame on the wall
And with eyes of eternity I see
Not a movement from point A to B;
You are a bright,
In my tapestry.
At the heart of the Jewish Museum in Berlin, 49 stoic pillars set apart by narrow pathways just wide enough for an individual to walk through at any one time mark the memory of the German Jews who were forced into the cracks of history and buried alive by the cement of an ideology, even before WWII officially began.