W. B. Yeats’ THE SECOND COMING

Today I wanted to share one of my favorite poem that is a perfect blend of chaos and beauty. I mostly enjoy the first verse. Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide…

The Holidays

Leaving leaks between the colored glowing pine trees. Leaving unlit candles and lonely hearts between silent night services on that eve. Little stings accumulate. Why do the hiccups hurt more than the heart surgeries?