Lionel Richie
I’m currently enjoying his musical stylings.
Ash to Trash
I’m going to graduate.
I’m going to pursue a career and start a family.
I’m going to create cherished memories and make mistakes.
And then one day, I’m going to die.
I’m going to be cremated,
placed in an urn that sits awkwardly in the living room,
too bulky for its place on the mantle.
I will become a nicknack,
passed on to my children and grandchildren.
Then I will be forgotten,
but my remains will be kept in the family.
They tell themselves it’s out of respect,
but it’s really because nobody quite knows how to
classily rid themselves of a distant ancestor’s ashes.
My urn will be knocked over,
shattering into a million tiny pieces.
And someone will quietly vacuum me up,
throw me away,
and pretend it never happened.
Icarus
Showed that anything more spectacular had occurred
Than the usual drowning. The police preferred to ignore
The confusing aspects of the case,
And the witnesses ran off to a gang war.
So the report filed and forgotten in the archives read simply
“Drowned,” but it was wrong: Icarus
Had swum away, coming at last to the city
Where he rented a house and tended the garden.
“That nice Mr. Hicks” the neighbors called,
Never dreaming that the gray, respectable suit
Concealed arms that had controlled huge wings
Nor that those sad, defeated eyes had once
Compelled the sun. And had he told them
They would have answered with a shocked,
uncomprehending stare.
No, he could not disturb their neat front yards;
Yet all his books insisted that this was a horrible mistake:
What was he doing aging in a suburb?
Can the genius of the hero fall
To the middling stature of the merely talented?
And nightly Icarus probes his wound
And daily in his workshop, curtains carefully drawn,
Constructs small wings and tries to fly
To the lighting fixture on the ceiling:
Fails every time and hates himself for trying.
He had thought himself a hero, had acted heroically,
And dreamt of his fall, the tragic fall of the hero;
But now rides commuter trains,
Serves on various committees,
And wishes he had drowned.
Comes the Dawn
After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn…
With every goodbye you learn.
- Shoffstall
(Source: lovequotesrus)
You give out very little sugar with your pronouncements.
—LaBoeuf
A year from now you will have wished you started today.
(Source: , via maleminded)
