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I stick my finger into existence and it smells of nothing. Where am I? What is this called the world? Who is it that lured me here? How did I come into this world? Why was I not consulted? Oh I stick my finger into existence and it smells of nothing.
- Søren Kierkegaard | |
Ode To Amanda
As far as she takes me
That's where I believe
A ride so soft and comforting
But ever hard to see
All around us lay these ancient things
To which she points and gazes
As one whose soul was lost in the soil
Or stolen by the breeze
What she sees, she traces and names
And calls down those words to me
When I was so far away
I could feel her moving on the world
The ground would warm and soften
Offering rest beneath these feet
From a distant landscape
She would stand and wave to me
The sky would gain hope
As she'd pinch the miles
Forcing my chin off my chest
And light to bend on water
But now she holds my hand
And whispers secrets we both share
She enacts beauty, begets beauty
While the trees shrink
And the sparrows pause and wait
For her strength of mind and heart
Here is a sacred existence
A home in the profane
She makes it right
It's all alright
My beautiful Amanda
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