3/4 Through The War

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We live in quiet hope
That fear will not rule our hearts
That love will endure
That peace will overcome
That war will end
So that softly and with that same quiet hope
We may start again

-Lucy Schwartz
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Note: I do not own the photographs included in this post, but I always try to link the photographs to their original source (when I can find it). If you want to find out more about the beautiful images & the photographers you can click on the images.

The Dragon

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You have a certain sharpness about you
Like a dragon almost
Or some sort of unusual species of snake

I know the question you’re asking yourself
The worry which is rapidly coiling itself inside your mind
And yes
You are venomous
The venom is rich within your blood
But the difference between you & the others is that
You don’t use your venom to bite
or kill
You use it to heal

The venom you have isn’t poison
No
It’s like an antidote
To a wounding that already took place long ago
And when ingested, it pulses through the veins like rapid fire
Consuming and transforming and sending love to every element and fiber of the person’s DNA
Until the wound is healed
And the person is whole once more

You are the dragon that walks in fire and smoke
And breathes light into the dark corners of the soul
I witness you in all your beauty
And with all your sharp edges
And I am in awe

You
Are
Magnificent

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Note: I do not own the photographs included in this post, but I always try to link the photographs to their original source (when I can find it). If you want to find out more about the beautiful images & the photographers you can click on the images.

Soft

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She always wore the softest sweaters
In the hopes that she would be held.

And she was soft.
And she was held.

Her children clung to her so sweetly
Their little doe eyes drifting off to sleep
Arms wrapped around her
Like she was a great big tree

I tell you, she wore the most unbelievable fabrics
Her clothing felt like pink clouds
Like sheep
Like the silkiest river
Like the fuzzy slippers that you wear in the morning to keep from getting cold
Like a giant but gentle polar bear
Like a dream
And she smelled like pine and cedarwood and roses

And as her children ventured off to dreamland
She kissed them each on the forehead
And counted her blessings.

She always wore the softest sweaters
In the hopes that she would be held.

And she was soft.
And she was held.

-Lucy Schwartz

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Note: I do not own the photographs included in this post, but I always try to link the photographs to their original source (when I can find it). If you want to find out more about the beautiful images & the photographers you can click on the images.

Past Lives

The many lives I lived before
Are laid out before me
Like diverging hallways
Echoing
Each door
Wanting to be known
A will-o’-wisp leads me through the chambers
bouncing merrily along the dark, stone, castle corridor
She is the only light in the darkness, but for the dim, flickering, lanterns which adorn the walls,
The wisp looks like the floating ghost of a dog,
or perhaps a butterfly,
It’s hard to tell,
She keeps shifting and changing shape,
At times she turns to nothingness,
Her form stretches outwards into thin air and then returns to itself,
She nearly disappears every time she turns a corner,
I find myself having to walk faster and faster just to keep up,
After a long time of chasing the wisp, we reach an ancient door,
Green, wooden, and covered in moss and vines,
The wisp slyly opens the door and pulls me through,
My body is lifted up into the heavens,
I feel myself drenched in coldness,
As if I am naked in snow,
Consumed by ice,
And I find that I am frozen stiff, completely unable to move,
And yet, I am moving at incredible speed, faster than I have ever traveled before,
And then – with no warning –
I land
Thud!
Heavy as lead
I feel the hard crunch of dirt and grass beneath my feet

And that’s when I see myself
The way I was before
In this other life
How very strange to be looking at another version of myself
She is me and she is not me all at once
She was completely forgotten to me in my consciousness
And yet, it’s very clear she was known to me all along
I can hardly catch my breath

I know now that the past is not an echo
It’s alive

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Saoirse Ronan
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-Lucy Schwartz

Note: I do not own the photographs included in this post, but I always try to link the photographs to their original source (when I can find it). If you want to find out more about the beautiful images & the photographers you can click on the images.

The Child

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I don’t have a name yet
I am only a thought traveling through space
I’ll be born on the night of a terrible storm
Welcomed into the world with a riot of rolling thunder and flashing haywire lights
I’ll have blue eyes
And a penchant for dancing
My father will weep the first time he holds me
It’s the only time I’ll see him cry in my life
My mother will lift me up,
And look at me, curiously,
But she won’t cry
I wish she would.

I don’t have a name yet
I am only a thought traveling through space

– A poem by Lucy Schwartz
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Note: I do not own the images included in this post.