Walker, your footsteps
are the road, and nothing more.
Walker, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.
Walking you make the road,
and turning to look behind
you see the path you never
again will step upon.
Walker, there is no road,
only foam trails on the sea.
— Border of a Dream: Selected Poems of Antonio Machado, translated by Willis Barnstone
Via: https://herbertlui.net/the-road-is-made-by-walking/
Original: https://toots.dgplug.org/@jason/111745888156027280
I made a house of houselessness,
A garden of your going:
And seven trees of seven wounds
You gave me, all unknowing:
I made a feast of golden grief
That you so lordly left me,
I made a bed of all the smiles
Whereof your lip bereft me:
I made a sun of your delay,
Your daily loss, his setting:
I made a wall of all your words
And a lock of your forgetting.
— Rose O’Neill
via Colleen Doran: https://colleendoran.tumblr.com/post/726289653606514688
Original: https://toots.dgplug.org/@jason/110930558717145597
We Grow Accustomed to the Dark
The Bravest — grope a little —
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead —
But as they learn to see —
Either the Darkness alters —
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight
— Emily Dickinson
via https://www.themarginalian.org/2018/09/18/we-grow-accustomed-to-the-dark-emily-dickinson-animation/
#EmilyDickinson #Poetry #mjbPoetry #Resilience
Original: https://toots.dgplug.org/@jason/110177932207762751
#emilydickinson, #poetry, #mjbpoetry, #resilience