poetry

There's always some saving grace in poetry.
And that is something nice.

Yours truly.
M.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

endless

This is one of my favourite quotes, potentially ever.
Ever.

“So therefore I dedicate myself to myself, to my art, my sleep, my dreams, my labors, my suffrances, my loneliness, my unique madness, my endless absorption and hunger - because I cannot dedicate myself to any fellow being.”
- Jack Kerouac


Just this, in all of its honesty.
The hot and cold of this quote is just staggering.
And the thing is, we all have this. This endless absorption and hunger, for life, for new things, for seeing and seeking our personal truth.
Being like a hungry, hungry sponge.
We all have this.
And it should be able to run free.
This personal hungry sponge.
Free and wild.

Happy sponge, guys.

Yours truly.
M.