"...the truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To them... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, ...a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create - so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, their very breath is cut off... They must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency they are not really alive unless they are creating'.-Pearl S. Buck

Saturday, January 22, 2011

i dont come...

...round here much anymore
i have love & life & death
& now & then
& today
& yesterdays still
to contend with
& understand
& embrace
& they are piling up
& i dont know where to put them all
i cant fit each day
into each day
& it doesnt mean i dont
think & love & cherish
& remember
its just
the more times i have to let go
the more times i realise
my desire to hold on
& the more times i hold on
the more i realise that
in its extremity
life is so small
& fleeting
& the only thing that matters
anyway
is now
so if i am not as before
than forgive me
as i just try to be
right here
right now
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