Forms of Love by Daniel Baylis

 

Forms of Love
by Daniel Baylis 

Sometimes I wonder: 
What's the point? 
Why be good? Why care? Why try to change things? 
Why - when we continue to wreck each other? 
Yet, I keep moving forward. 
Not because I am confident in my outcomes. 
But because I am still susceptible to sweet things: 
a sunset, 
a cup of coffee, 
a warm blanket, 
the smell of lilacs, 
the sound of my mother's laughter - 
and all the other forms of love. 
Sometimes I wonder: 
what would the world look like
if each of us decided to become 
a form of love?



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Right Here by Dane Anthony

  Right Here DANE ANTHONY Stop moving. Stand in one place – this place. Breathe slowly; in, then out. Repeat. Repeat again. Let your shoulders sink and relax. Unclench your jaw; slowly close your eyes. Listen for your heartbeat; really listen. Feel it pulse in your fingertips. Lessen expectations. Under-do all your efforts. Requisition the time for your soul to catch up. Lean into the wind; feel it like a tree and test the ground. Learn to trust the resilience. It would be treason to move quickly – left or right – from this place. It is alright to be exactly what you are, who you are, where you are. Right here, right now.
Read more

"For how many years" by Mary Oliver

Image
From "The Book of Time"  2. For how many years have you gone through the house shutting the windows, while the rain was still five miles away and veering, o plum-colored clouds, to the north, away from you and you did not even know enough to be sorry, you were glad those silver sheets, with the occasional golden staple, were sweeping on, elsewhere, violent and electric and uncontrollable–- and will you find yourself finally wanting to forget all enclosures, including the enclosure of yourself, o lonely leaf, and will you dash finally, frantically, to the windows and haul them open and lean out to the dark, silvered sky, to everything that is beyond capture, shouting I’m here, I’m here! Now, now, now, now, now.                                 Art credit: Andrew Wyeth
Read more