One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice – though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. “Mend my life!” each voice cried. But you didn’t stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do – determined to save the only life you could save.
The fog has risen from the sea and crowned The dark, untrodden summits of the coast, Where roams a voice, in canyons uttermost, From midnight waters vibrant and profound. High on each granite altar dies the sound, Deep as the trampling of an armored host, Lone as the lamentation of a ghost, Sad as the diapason of the drowned.
The mountain seems no more a soulless thing, But rather as a shape of ancient fear, In darkness and the winds of Chaos born Amid the lordless heavens’ thundering– A Presence crouched, enormous and austere, Before whose feet the mighty waters mourn.
Eight deer on the slope
in the summer morning mist.
The night sky blue.
Me like a mare let out to pasture.
The Tao does not console me.
I was given the Way
in the milk of childhood.
Breathing it waking and sleeping.
But now there is no amazing smell
of sperm on my thighs,
no spreading it on my stomach
to show pleasure.
I will never give up longing.
I will let my hair stay long.
The rain proclaims these trees,
the trees tell of the sun.
Let birds, let birds.
Let leaf be passion.
Let jaw, let teeth, let tongue be
between us. Let joy.
Let entering. Let rage and calm join.
Let quail come.
Let winter impress you. Let spring.
Allow the ocean to wake in you.
Let the mare in the field
in the summer morning mist
make you whinny. Make you come
to the fence and whinny. Let birds.
You may see me struggle, but you won’t see me fall. Regardless if I’m weak or not, I’m going to stand tall.
Everyone says life is easy, but truly living it is not. Times get hard, people struggle and constantly get put on the spot.
I’m going to wear the biggest smile, even though I want to cry. I’m going to fight to live, even though I’m destined to die. And even though it’s hard and I may struggle through it all, you may see me struggle… but you will NEVER see me fall.
Im Hofe steht ein Pflaumenbaum, Der ist so klein, man glaubt es kaum. Er hat ein Gitter drum, So tritt ihn keiner um. Der Kleine kann nicht größer wer’n, Ja – größer wer’n, das möcht’ er gern! ‘s ist keine Red davon: Er hat zu wenig Sonn’.
Dem Pflaumenbaum, man glaubt ihm kaum, Weil er nie eine Pflaume hat. Doch er ist ein Pflaumenbaum: Man kennt es an dem Blatt.
The Plum Tree
In the courtyard stands a plum tree, It’s so small, no one believes it. It has a fence around it, So no one can stomp on it. The little tree can’t grow, Yes – it wants to grow! No one talks about it; It gets too little sun.
No one believes it’s a plum tree Because it doesn’t have a single plum. But it is a plum tree; You can tell by its leaf.