Brother, I am fire
Surging under the ocean floor.
I shall never meet you, brother—
Not for years, anyhow;
Maybe thousands of years, brother.
Then I will warm you,
Hold you close, wrap you in circles,
Use you and change you—
Maybe thousands of years, brother.
posted by Sora at 6:33 PM
Into this wild abyss
The womb of nature and perhaps her grave
Of neither sea nor shore nor air nor fire
But all these in their pregnant causes mixed
Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight
Unless the almighty maker them ordain
His dark materials to create more worlds,
Into this wild abyss the wary fiend
Stood on the brink of hell and looked awhile,
Pondering his voyage...
--John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book One
Currently Reading:
100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home