In your hands I am no longer a pile of bones left behind to a world that moved on.

Some plant lips on Mother Earth in a display of gratitude.Meanwhile, she is kissing the soles of your feet, recognizing the one to be worshiped is you.

Allow the fear to keep you sensible but not to keep you still. If you're afraid of the dark then open your eyes, see that you are home.

Towards these weeks of rain I give effusive praise. Let me always be reminded that there is time for change.

How lucky I am to lose sleep over such a work of art.

Sometimes my helpless blood runs numb and, if only for a second, I forget how frail bones can be.

Dissociated, I follow this body in its reckless haste.

Leave the hush to those who love like apes because together, you and I make vulgar sounds like a fervent sojourn in paradise.

Doubt quit stopping by when I started staying out late, dancing in a flood of self assurance discovered when holding your hand.

I am foolish in the way distance makes me feel partial.

Even lungs that are gasping are lungs that are trying.

If you can't forgive and forget, then pick one and do it ...

You define a good flight by negatives: you didn't get hijacked, you didn't crash, you didn't throw up, you weren't late, you weren't nauseated by the food. So you are grateful.

I don't think nationalism is alone holding the field it's in contention with a lot of different things.

With effort we can protect the foundation of our democracy, for which so many marched across this bridge, the right to vote.

The world had somehow gone too far, and spontaneous kindness could never be so easy.

All we have is here and now. That's why procrastination feels so right. Procrastination isn't the problem, it's the solution.

The great ages did not perhaps produce much more talent than ours,' [T.S.] Eliot wrote. 'But less talent was wasted.

War is now a form of TV entertainment, and what made the First World War so particularly entertaining were two American inventions, barbed wire and the machine gun.

There are no right or wrong, or fair results. There's just the final score.

Trochee trips from long to short; From long to long in solemn sort Slow Spondee stalks.