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Poems Quotes

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Poems Quotes

“Where you find Truth Is where you find your reflection And where you find your reflection Is where you find love And where you find love Is where you find light And where you find light Is where you find faith And where you find faith Is where you find purpose And where you find purpose Is where you find happiness And where you find happiness Is where you find Truth And when you find Truth Truth will set you free. REFLECTIONS OF TRUTH by Suzy Kassem Taken from Rise Up and Salute the Sun, 2010. First published in Truth is Crying, 2008.”

“Dead leaves give the feeling of relief that there's still something in the world, That’s also as devoid as you are Touching every leaf mark on the stem tells you a story Listen to it carefully That once there was a connection But with time And the change in the season Made way for the leave to fall off To change its color too To tell the stem that this is the time to take a leave To finally say "goodbye" And leave behind the faded scars That'll make way for the birth of new leaves To make another affiliation with the new companions.”

“Do we not each dream of dreams? Do we not dance on the notes of lost memories? Then are we not each dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday, since dreams play when time is askew? Are we not all adrift in the constant sea of trial and when all is done, do we not all yearn for ships to carry us home?”

“I can’t help but ask, “Do you know where you are?” She turns to me with a foreboding glare. “Do you?”

“There is a stillness between us, a period of restlessness that ties my stomach in a hangman’s noose. It is this same lack in noise that lives, there! in the darkness of the grave, how it frightens me beyond all things.”

“History doesn’t start with a tall building and a card with your name written on it, but jokes do. I think someone is taking us for suckers and is playing a mean game.”

“I steal one glance over my shoulder as soon as we are far from the foreboding luminance of the neon glow, and it is there that my stomach leaps into my throat. Squatting just shy of the light and partially concealed by the shade of an alley is a sinister silhouette beneath a crimson cowl, beaming a demonic smile which spans from cheek to swollen cheek.”

“She leaves my side and heads deeper into the apartment singing, “—if the spirit tries to hide, its temple far away… a copper for those they ask, a diamond for those who stay.”

“I rouse Emily to our guests, as she finishes off our fifteenth snowman by setting the head atop its torso. She stands limp at my direction, pointing out the coming shadows and I cannot help but hear a muffled sigh as she decapitates her latest creation with a single push of her hand.”

“That’s a stupid name! Whirly-gig is much better, I think. Who in their right mind would point at this thing and say, ‘I’m going to fly in my Model-A1’. People would much rather say, ‘Get in my whirly-gig’. And that’s what you should name it.”

“Dante Alighieri wrote his first book in the prosimetrum genre – La Vita Nuova – in 14th century Florence. Since I’m compiling this collection – my first indie publication – in Florence, just blocks from Dante’s house, and since his book involves a lost love, and ‘A New Life,’ I thought it fitting to emulate this style in my own casual, intuitive fashion. My hope is that the juxtaposition of poems, journal entries, essays and prose will create a story; a memoir in anarchistic vignettes.”

“Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rage 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 grieved 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.”

“I had to choose between getting burned by my father, the sun, relentlessly burning and leaving me burnt. Too hurt, too scorching & overbearing. Or, staying in the black hole of my mother, aborning everything its path. I chose the latter because I thought the last thing she would corrupt is her own daughter…Perhaps one day I will escape this madness and find a planet to sit on, and spin on its rings to watch the stars. I will be free in my own space and watch them, my parents, explode.”

“Rich man, poor man, come away. Come to dance the Macabray. Time to work and time to play, Time to dance the Macabray. One and all will hear and stay Come and dance the Macabray. One to leave and one to stay, And all to dance the Macabray. Step and turn, and walk and stay, Now we dance the Macabray. Now the Lady on the Grey Leads us in the Macabray All must dance the Macabray”

“In the depths of contemplation, we encounter the curiosities of reality: the way a breeze can carry whispers of ancient stories, the rustling leaves speaking a language only the soul can comprehend. Each droplet of rain becomes a prism through which we glimpse reflections of ourselves, fragmented yet whole. We reclaim forgotten pieces of our identity in the most unexpected places-a fleeting smile from a stranger, the scent of pine on a winter’s night, the laughter of children echoing in the distance. These ephemeral moments remind us that the present is a mosaic, intricately crafted from the past yet ever vibrant with potential.”