I'm looking at the starlit sky,
I'm looking at the timeless heavenly plough land,
Along which the Father sows the seed of eternal light.
I'm looking at the falling star,
Mercifully weaving the magic light
Above the lonely dreamer on his path of dreams -
Let us hurry, not for our sake, not for lost dreams,
But for the future -
I'm looking at the drop of rain on the wild rose's petal
Early in the morning,
How it trembles in its purity and nakedness,
Like an angelic clear tear on the face of an abandoned woman;
I'm looking at the rose in early bloom
Waking and offering itself to the brand new day
Like a woman to her beloved -
Once you shall return and wipe away the tears
We kissed and smelled under the Northern Star's light together -
I am humbly looking at the sun as if it was a heavenly blacksmith,
Welding harmony within human souls.
I am looking at the centennial oak,
As if it was an eternally young pharmacist,
Offering its healthy medicine for free.
I'm looking at the tree's straight posture,
Drowning its young branches
In the embrace of the sun's golden light,
While the wind is brotherly fondling its wrinkled face,
Whispering on about its thousand years of loneliness and loving -
Don't be afraid to fall in love, love is the seed of new life -
I'm looking at the man who doesn't hear
Nor understand what nature is trying to tell him.

a Poem about rejection

Ashes into Dawn Poetry

Your Best

If you always try your best
Then you’ll never have to wonder
About what you could have done
If you’d summoned all your thunder.
And if your best
Was not as good
As you hoped it would be,
You still could say,
“I gave today
All that I had in me.”

~ Barbara Vance

Excerpt from the poetry collection “Suzie Bitner Was Afraid of the Drain”

The Fabulous Dreams by Langston Hughes Spoken Word Poem

The Thing Is By Ellen Bass

to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you down like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.

They ask me why I Write like this Poem

The Human Seasons by John Keats

https://emeraldbookclub.org/2026/01/19/the-human-seasons/