I think...I'm supposed to be a monk.
posted by ~kris @ 1:35 AM
1 comments
Forgotten Probity Forgotten Purity
My other life. The one that only exists in the universe of my mind. It's called "Imagination". I write what goes on in my imagination, my Emotions and my Soul completely completely influence it. I write what I feel, I question what I feel.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
About Me
- Name: Kris
- Location: Attention, Attention- Listen and Hear!, Here, There Everywhere, United States
Under Peace. I enjoy expression, for true expression is the only thing honest.
Links
A Developing Story: --Now Discontinued
Previous Posts
- For Sister Poverty, we give thanks, for Brother Wa...
- Meeting Vincent Pannizzo.
- "Forgiveness is giving up all hope of having had a...
- Chrisitan Anarchism
- With nightime tears sunken
- All is in flux; so we tell ourselves; so we make i...
- One poem in my top three
- I like finding gold
- "My body, this lean carrion that still has to be w...
- Oh Praise Him.
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My Poems:
- Tacit Sorrow
- Athena
- Anonymous
- Love Poem 0.1
- Very Impressed
- Exhale
- Silently Abandoned
- Always Something
- Sinfull in the eyes of our Lord
- On Shore
- Ode to misty Autumn Groundhog
- Nurturing Hands
- Roundabout
- Grinning all the way
- Swans In Ponds
- Lamentations
- Phantasy Lessons
- Coming out of Darkness If - by Rudyard Kipling If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream---and not make dreams your master; If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same:. If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!