hazytreasures:

Up and down, out and around, awake, busy, moving, never stopping, hardly breathing, trapped in a whirlwind of rollarcoaster emotions and physical demand.

Time to stop, time to breath, time to close your eyes and let yourself succumb to the delicious escape of slumbering unconsciousness.

You’ve worked, you’ve stressed, you’ve spun yourself into dizzy breathlessness.

You’ve overdone it and it is time to lay down your head and hide in the comforting darkness until the dizziness passes and it is safe to greet the light of day again.

Before you run yourself into an irreparable breakdown, it is time to stop.

Time to wait out the dizziness.

I clicked “Random” on my blog and this old post popped up. I think it’s a message. Time to call it a night and stop pushing myself. Y’all should listen to this too! Time for bed, gorgeous people. Sleep is a lovely thing. <3 

We speak in louder voices,
over the roar of all the cars,
speeding under this bridge on which we stand.

We see with different eyes,
the skies that rise above us,
Counting all the stars neatly linked in strands.

We dance in other bodies,
as though gravity has ceased,
and we hold each other down if only with our hands.

We linger in false realities,
looking to the sky for answers.
Wishing the stars which held them, were closer to land. 

Don’t let go of my hand,
I hope you’ll understand.

(Source: thedayifoundthesun)

One day when I find my place, and settle in,
I’ll paint stars of the galaxy, upon my skin.
So I can still feel connected but infinite,
in a world that I have seemingly figured out.

That day, when I find my place, and settle down,
I hope I’m exactly where I’m meant to be,for now,
Somewhere between the dirt beneath, and the stars we see. 
I’ll just trust the stars as they are lined for me.

“When I have fears that I may cease to be”

Oh Nature’s poet, we are one & the same

Your Romantic troubles are familiar to me

For I too must question the legacy of a name.

What might become of the precious words I scrawl

When I perish and lose my tongue to write?

I weep for the potential meaningless of it all

If my words shall die, what good is sight?

I can see and feel and taste the waking world

With the poet eyes you gave me long ago

And I cry like a soul that’s broken and curled

Upon itself at the beauty I’ve come to know.

But sweet poet, your careful words live on in me

So perhaps there is hope for when I cease to be.

In the after-dinner drowsiness solace is sought in sunset

Finding the place where thoughts can stretch indefinitely

The warmth of the fading sunlight sooths an addled mind

And after breathing in the early-spring cherry blossoms

And after smiling at the secret between you and the world

Fall into the therapeutic repetitiveness of walking eleven rows

Eleven and a half rows of apple orchard pensivity

Trying to appreciate the minute beauties abandoned by the world

Drinking the colours with hungry eyes as the mind muddles

Contemplating life, legacy and the meaning of it all

Unlocking the secrets of the universe in eleven and a half rows

I would cut all ties and say my goodbyes,

and head up and over to Iceland.
Where I’d stay a while, backpacking style,
then eventually find a home there.
In my dear Iceland where, everyone shares,
and everyone there is friendly,
will I live and die, not having to say goodbye,
to anyone but my family.
If I could survive, I’m sure I would thrive,
on that little island in the ocean.
Living by the sea, where I can just be,
exactly what I was meant to.
My dear, when we get there, and the plane lands,
know it will be hard for me to return.
To a place that is busy, where no one even sees me,
where the only thing worth surviving for is you.

———————————————————

To my loved and so loving boyfriend, dearest and closest friend, and fellow Icelandic traveler, Jeff!

Can NOT believe he is taking me to Iceland!

xoxo forever,
Mazie

It’s like a stampede, 

www.theselittlepieces.wordpress.com

My heart awaits thee

Thou happy poet who mayhaps to bait me

Thou who hast tongue to twist a pretty phrase

And woo me with the heartbeat you can raise

My soul is yours

Thou that can thrill me,

Use a honeyed verse to still me,

And in your whispered passions

Steal my breath for it is thine.

Wherefore art thou,

When I needst thou

To turn my head and catch my breath

And dizzy my thoughts for want of rest.

Thou figure of my dreams,

My heart conjured you it seems

So may I restless live until you chance

To find me in blessed happenstance.

Pray you come to be in flesh

So I may put my heart to rest,

For my heart is thine if ever thou canst find me

And with your lyric verses bind me;

Take my soul and keep my heart

And appease them with your lovely art.

In anxious peace sits the troubled poet,
Contemplating maladies of thought’s inventions

Toils she with the grandeur of seductive
Nothingness beyond her tired
Fingers’ grasp

Though she idles,
Discontented with the voluminous silence of her mind,
The world beyond the mirrored glass
Rages with poetic violence

Such melodious furies
As would woo the darkness of the soul
And perturb the fairness of the mind

Her bursting heart thus satisfied
With the Muse’s breath caught on the fearsome gusts,
The pathetic poet kisses her pen
To the wanton page  

If there be fire in her eager ink,
Thus may her voice
Be catalogued in the canon of the wind
In desperate hopes
Of appeasing this hungry art
With illumination for anticipated babes of the practice