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Monday, November 21, 2011
And here I am again, late with my post.
If we were in pre revolution France, my head would be gone by now (and so would my penchant for beautiful shoes).
But, I promise I will get better!
Change of topic!
Thanksgiving is this Thursday!
Time to joyously eat pie, be with friends and families and be thankfull for all that you have, no matter how little it could be.
And thats our prompt for this week. Thankfulness.
And with our prompt, comes a poem.
Enjoy!
Simply Lit
by Malena Morling
Often toward evening,
after another day, after
another year of days,
in the half dark on the way home
I stop at the food store
and waiting in line I begin
to wonder about people—I wonder
if they also wonder about how
strange it is that we
are here on the earth.
And how in order to live
we all must sleep.
And how we have beds for this
(unless we are without)
and entire rooms where we go
at the end of the day to collapse.
And I think how even the most
lively people are desolate
when they are alone
because they too must sleep
and sooner or later die.
We are always looking to acquire
more food for more great meals.
We have to have great meals.
Isn't it enough to be a person buying
a carton of milk? A simple
package of butter and a loaf
of whole wheat bread?
Isn't it enough to stand here
while the sweet middle-aged cashier
rings up the purchases?
I look outside,
but I can't see much out there
because now it is dark except
for a single vermilion neon sign
floating above the gas station
like a miniature temple simply lit
against the night.
If we were in pre revolution France, my head would be gone by now (and so would my penchant for beautiful shoes).
But, I promise I will get better!
Change of topic!
Thanksgiving is this Thursday!
Time to joyously eat pie, be with friends and families and be thankfull for all that you have, no matter how little it could be.
And thats our prompt for this week. Thankfulness.
And with our prompt, comes a poem.
Enjoy!
Simply Lit
by Malena Morling
Often toward evening,
after another day, after
another year of days,
in the half dark on the way home
I stop at the food store
and waiting in line I begin
to wonder about people—I wonder
if they also wonder about how
strange it is that we
are here on the earth.
And how in order to live
we all must sleep.
And how we have beds for this
(unless we are without)
and entire rooms where we go
at the end of the day to collapse.
And I think how even the most
lively people are desolate
when they are alone
because they too must sleep
and sooner or later die.
We are always looking to acquire
more food for more great meals.
We have to have great meals.
Isn't it enough to be a person buying
a carton of milk? A simple
package of butter and a loaf
of whole wheat bread?
Isn't it enough to stand here
while the sweet middle-aged cashier
rings up the purchases?
I look outside,
but I can't see much out there
because now it is dark except
for a single vermilion neon sign
floating above the gas station
like a miniature temple simply lit
against the night.
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